


Ebb and Flow

by WalkerLister



Series: Rising Tides [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, it's the rising tides one shots!, recommend reading the story first or this won't make very much sense aha, very much the same themes as the original story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:56:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 65,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkerLister/pseuds/WalkerLister
Summary: One-shots to accompany 'Rising Tides' within that universe! Including looks into Jo and Yaz's future after the final chapter, their past, missing scenes and scenes from different POVs!
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: Rising Tides [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027018
Comments: 128
Kudos: 55





	1. Jo

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I've missed these two and their world so much, but I'm back with 'Ebb and Flow'! This is going to be an assortment of one shots, and I'll provide a brief summary and any specific TW for each one, as some will be more angstier than others, some more fluffy.... you get the deal! I know rising tides was very regular with the updates, I'm going to try and do once a week, I already have a few written, but it's really just when inspiration strikes, etc. so updates are likely to be less consistent than the original story, but they all stand alone (unless it's something big i'll split into two, who knows!) so there won't be any horrible cliffhangers in this one ahaha 
> 
> This first update is Jo's perspective through the first few chapters of rt. TW: grief, hallucination, alcohol (as per chapter 5), mental health issues- essentially what we discover in Chapter 30- if you have any concerns find me on tumblr @ walker-lister or twitter @walkerlister1 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jo’s hands fumble with the book clasped within them, index finger tapping restlessly against the cover as she thinks where on the bookshelf to place this one. Her eyes narrow as they scan over seemingly endless covers, endless titles, wondering whether she is going to have to shift a whole shelf in order to get this one to fit, until-

“Aha!” She exclaims in victory, finding a small gap to tuck the book into; luckily it is on the slim side, rather than being a tome, and it easily slots itself between two other paperbacks. Problem solved.

Jo likes these problems. These problems are easily dealt with, filling her hours until closing time and the inevitable dipping of the sun below the horizon. Jo peeks through the window next to the bookshelf, past the few books displayed there as artistically as Jo’s artistic-less brain will allow, and to the village beyond. Her eyes skate over the few people wandering by, unfamiliar faces of tourists and some faces which strike a chord of familiarity to Jo, but she does not take much notice of them, Mrs Grose the only one she knows by name, and up towards the sky. The sun sits as watcher, beaming, and from the slant of its glare Jo can see it is nearing four pm, and only another hour or so of work awaits. She lets out a sigh, feeling lighter at the knowledge.

She wonders whether the sunny weather will hang around long enough for her to bear witness to the sunset, for the sunset to bear witness to her grief, to remind her of something- some _one._

The one person among the crowds outside she wishes were there. All these faces, all these people, and there is only one Jo wants to see.

She thinks she does, for a moment, when she catches sight of curling blonde hair, bouncing against shoulder blades, but when she blinks, the figure is gone. Jo shakes herself, and turns back to the bookshop, blinking as her eyes adjust to the dim light of the interior once more as she heads back towards the desk, slouching on the stall. She brings the logbook closer to her, looking over the bookings for the guided tours they offer. She fights the urge to roll her eyes as she notes a small walking group have booked onto her Thursday tour from a familiar company who they do lots of business with; their clientele are… well, annoying, in a word. Jo wonders how many patronising comments she is to endure from older members who question her knowledge. It would be nice to have someone on her side, someone a bit more relatable, a bit more understandable…. A bit more on the same page.

“Well, at least that’s not for another couple days.” She mutters to herself, flinging the logbook shut, the leather cover making a soft ‘whump’ sound as it hides cream pages away. Jo blows out a long breath through her cheeks, foot tapping restlessly against the bar of the stool.

She loves talking to people, she really does, and it is easier… now, but at the end of the long day she has to admit she is ready to hide herself away and find solace in the sun and the quiet cosiness of her flat. Well, Jo thinks her flat is cosy; Amy thinks it is a ‘bleedin’ mess’, but Jo finds it provides her enough to be comfortable but not enough that she feels herself thinking of it as ‘home’… no, she could not do that, not when she has no home anymore.

It is just somewhere for her body to live whilst her mind is elsewhere.

“Stop it.” She mutters to herself, shaking her heads as if to physically dispel those thoughts from her head. “Bein’ so mardy.”

She grabs for the book she is currently reading from its place by the computer and opens it to where her bookmark rests. Dipping her head down, Jo turns her attention to the words on the page.

Not long after, the bell chimes and two people enter.

“Hiya, Ryan!” She greets the younger man with a bright smile, closing her book and putting it to the side. Ryan offers her a small smile in response, and Jo winces to know the man is not exactly her biggest fan; she has always got a strange vibe from him, as if they are a faulty zip on a jacket, not quite working in harmony, not understanding each other. She tries not to let it bother her, but it is difficult when she sees him so often, being Grace’s grandson.

“Jo, this is Yasmin Khan. We used to go to school together.” Ryan says, and then he is stepping out of the way and someone else steps forward.

In the dim light of the room, her chestnut eyes gleam with an intelligence and kindness, her long silken hair shines and seems to fall waterfall-like down her shoulders and back, and her lips are tugged upwards in a smile, shadows falling into the creases in her smooth skin as laughter lines form around her eyes.

Jo thinks her very captivating, and she blinks, a smile of her own being drawn onto her face, at once interested but also…. Well, looking at Yasmin Khan is like observing a rainbow in a storm; a temporary beauty amidst a tempest of emotions which rock Jo’s small boat of stability. Soon the beauty is gone, still in front of Jo, but familiar thoughts come to the forefront of her mind and she berates herself even as she smiles at Yasmin Khan, who tells her that ‘Yaz is fine’, even as she spouts off to her about how much she dislikes her name, even as she shares with the other woman her book recommendations, even as she sells her a copy of Amy’s book; rainbows can be seen but not touched, are transcendent, transitory. And Jo’s hands could never- _should_ never- try and capture its beauty, the truth of its being. But there is one comfort Jo can take away; Yaz is booked for her tour, and she finally feels as if there will be someone on her side.

She waves Yasmin Khan off, but her eyes are already straying towards the window, towards where the sunlight hits the houses on the other side of the road, to where her thoughts are more comfortable in their familiarity.

She thinks of the soon to be sunset. 

* * *

Days pass and hours pass and Jo counts the hours down until the sunsets, over and over, day by day, and there is a mindlessness to most of what she does, whiling away the hours with reading and organising bookshelves, and selling the odd book, and then the tour, and putting up with the tedious questions she had known were coming from snide faces belittling her, questioning her every word. She might snap back with her credentials could she be so bothered- not deigning to tell people that yes, she is a doctor, but of astrophysics, not history, but that is past the point I am an intelligent woman, _sir-_ but Jo finds the feistier side of her character diminished; her energy comes mainly from the setting sun.

There is one bright side to all of this, however, a face registering on the edges of Jo’s consciousness when she can be bothered to bring herself out of a fog of thoughts…

Yasmin Khan.

Jo finds herself drawn to her, like a tide drawn ever closer to the shore by the unwavering command of the moon. Her feet move and her mind follows after as she takes Yaz’s praise of her tour, and suddenly she finds herself offering to pick out some books for the woman; she is struck by how much she wants to do that, something out of the ordinary, breaking her routine ever so slightly. It is a small thing, and Jo is sure that is all she can take at the moment. When she is in the process of doing so in the quiet of the bookshop, her hands tremble a little as she dares to poke at the sensitive reason as to _why,_ and she shakes her head and sternly tells herself that just because she finds Yaz interesting does not have to mean anything significant.

By the time Yaz comes to collect her books, Jo barely hears her words through the smog of her thoughts. 

* * *

There is the glowing, almost dreamy, lights of the pub, the hazy atmosphere as a band plays in the corner, and there is a glass in Jo’s hand; she does not think it is her first.

She hates herself for it, loathing building on loathing that she should fall victim to something she has seen so much of, to something she had sworn to herself never to indulge in; she had come so close to using it as a crutch before, and she is determined not to now, but after a long week in the dozy summer evening she finds her hand straying without her permission, her detached state working against her to drive her to the point of distress she reaches that evening. She had gotten here early because she knew Amy would stand in her way, and the expression on her best friend’s face when she enters the pub, sees a third glass in Jo’s hand, is enough for the loathing to grow into a wave.

Amy must notice this, for her expression becomes softer, a lion cub rather than the lioness she normally is, and then she is huddling at the table opposite Jo, Rory sitting next to her, bending her head to Jo’s and talking, simply talking to her, nonsense about people Jo knows the faces of but not the names, until Amy’s voice and her words are the centre of everything Jo is feeling and thinking, until she does not notice those who surrounds them, familiar voices of their friends background noise as Amy helps her fight the alcohol fuelled fog which could threaten to drag her down.

Only… Jo has always been too clever for her own good, has had that fact thrown in her face any number of times growing up, and her brain seems to work not like a steam train, but a bullet train, racing from thought to thought leaving her with barely any time to catch up. And with the alcohol in her system, it is not long until Amy, and the thought of Amy, and of Amy at university, Amy on their trips, and who else was there- who? Who was there? Rory, of course, but someone else, and Jo tries to keep her name from spelling itself out in her mind but it trickles through until it is a steady flowing _River-_ becomes too much and Jo shakes herself and states her need to see the sunset, Amy helpless to follow.

The river turns into an ocean, and as the light of the sunset spills out over waves in front of her Jo lets the surge of emotions overwhelm her in a tsunami, unable to stop them. Amy is like a cliff-face, standing stern, strong and steady against the tide, holding onto Jo’s hand but Jo feels as if she is drowning, she cannot breath, the sun, as it dips below the horizon and the moon rises to take its place, steals away Jo’s breath with it.

Amy is leading her somewhere, somewhere warm which glows with the light of hundreds of fireflies, and then somewhere else, through creaky swinging door into a starker, brighter room. A bathroom, Jo realises, as Amy rests her against the counter, hands on her arms. But her embrace, her comfort, is stifling to Jo, and she _cannot_ breath, and Amy’s words fall on deaf ears, water rushing in them, and Jo blinks, desperately trying to catch her breath, and out of the corner of her eye she sees golden curls and she must let out a sound of distress for Amy’s face crumples in a way that reminds Jo of the smell of disinfectant, the sound of a beeping, and she just needs to _get out-_

A door slams, and the sound reverberates in Jo’s ears as she makes her way back into the warm place- the pub, she remembers- but right on her heels is ginger fury, catching at her wrist.

“Jo, listen to me.” Amy voice says, but Jo cannot listen, cannot hear beyond the torrent in her ears, and she stumbles away, desperate to move, to get out, but she catches at something and then more hands are on her and she pushes those away, blind and deaf to the commotion that causes as Rory knocks into a table and sloshes over the drinks resting on the top. The world is moving far too fast around her, like a carousel, but at the same time she feels as if she is moving in slow motion, dunked in icy water, her limbs refusing to cooperate. It is too much. She wants to get away.

She wants River.

Words are being spoken around her but suddenly everything to Jo has just… _frozen_. River. There is no river. The torrent disappears, the river has dried up, and Jo is alone in her head. Alone.

She makes out ginger hair and a familiar tall stature in front of her, and she reaches for it, suddenly desperate for her best friend’s embrace. “Amy.” She says, barely recognising her own voice. “She’s gone.”

Amy knows this, Jo knows that, and she is not sure why she states it, but Amy’s face softens a little and then her arm is around Jo’s narrow shoulders and Jo is being led away from the warmth and out into the night again. She catches a glimpse of long dark hair, a face pulled tight with concern and an uncertainty which does not suit it, but everything feels dulled, the edges of reality blended out like watercolours on a canvas, all bleeding together. The night feels harsh in its abrasiveness coldness, but Jo ducks her head to Amy’s side and hides in the comfort of a familiar hold.

Amy’s flat is a beacon of hope, a lighthouse calling out for Jo in her small rowboat of distress, and as she is led through the café and up a steep flight of stairs to the Ponds’ living quarters, she can already feel the benefit of a safe space, a quiet space, where nothing else reverberates in her ears but her thoughts. And they are easier to hear now that it is quieter, and Jo takes a few deep breaths as she is led to the couch, deposited down on it, keeping her eyes on the ground, now accustomed to doing so to avoid the picture which rests on Amy and Rory’s mantlepiece. Thinking becomes clearer still when a glass of water is egged into her hands and she is encouraged to sip at it, and Jo feels as if she is descending from a great height back down to earth, putting her feet on solid ground. Embarrassment and shame begin to creep in, tinging her cheeks pink, and she closes her eyes in defeat.

“When does it get easier?” She asks Amy, turning to the other woman in the low light of the room, Rory moving to close the curtains and then switch on a small lamp in the corner. It casts its glow over the room, its light brushing against Jo’s side.

Amy’s hands fiddle together in her lap, a nervous fidget Jo is familiar with, and she does not really know why she asked the question, for she knows Amy does not know the answer, that Amy and Rory are themselves paddling along in a little boat next to Jo, all three of them fighting against the current. Jo suddenly feels ashamed of her actions, of losing it so spectacularly this evening, when those who are suffering alongside her had been the ones to reach out to her, even when she had been blind and deaf to their aid, caught up in her own grief.

“Shouldn’t have asked that.” She speaks, and Amy’s fingers still their nervous fiddling, Rory straightening. She looks between them, fingers twitching against her glass. “You make it easier. I’m a rubbish friend.”

“Stop that.” Amy berates kindly, and Jo knows the other woman is on surer ground now with the ability to be softly berating her. Amy’s arm wraps around her shoulder and Jo allows herself to fall into Amy’s embrace until her head is in Amy’s lap, legs moving up onto the sofa. Rory slides into place before they can hit the soft cushion, and he rests her feet in his lap, hands on her shins.

Jo shakes her head, ear scraping against the slightly abrasive material of Amy’s jeans. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I did.” The alcohol fuelled fog is clearer, but it is still present enough to loosen Jo’s tongue somewhat, and her frustration at herself seeps through. “Was everyone staring?”

“Not everyone, you know Mr Hodges is blind as a bat.” Amy tries to joke, but her breath hitches a little in the delivery. She lets out a sigh, and her hand begins to trail through Jo’s hair, fingernails a soothing pressure against Jo’s scalp. “But it’s okay. Even if they were, they could go stuff themselves.”

“Oh no, the new human was there.” Jo suddenly groans, flashes of memory of dark locks falling like a waterfall over shoulders coming to the forefront of her mind. “Yaz. She saw.”

“She tried to help, don’t worry.” Amy assures her.

“Definitely more concerned than anything else, Jo.” Rory reassures her, patting her shin.

There words are a reassurance, but it only cuts so deep into the thick shame and loathing Jo feels, and she can feel a familiar darkness falling once again over her mind, and she wants to cry, so tired, _too tired,_ to deal with it…. So she closes her eyes and wills her mind to go blank; no storms, no waves, no rivers.

Luckily, under Amy’s gentle ministrations, she is granted the bliss of sleep. 

* * *

Sunday comes like a lull in the weather, a calm sea and calm skies, no wind whipping around in Jo’s ears and in her head. She feels ensconced in cotton wool, eyes aching from having left her contacts in overnight, head aching from the alcohol consumed, but the physical pain is preferable to her, and she welcomes the numbness she feels as she lounges on Amy and Rory’s sofa. She only moves when Amy forces her to get up and help out in the café kitchen, although Jo is strictly on arranging food on plate duty, rather than smoothie making duty- that had not gone well previously.

The work is mindless and gives her fidgety hands something to do, and Jo is grateful to while away the day hiding herself away in the kitchen with only Amy’s company- their normal cook has the weekends off. She does not feel ready to face anyone she might run into were she to step outside into the village, Yasmin Khan’s face coming to mind first- the woman is new here, had seemed to like Jo, and now she has surely put her off. The thought churns inside her, disrupting her equilibrium, and Jo pushes it away along with a hundred others, turning instead to arrange the food on the plate in front of her into a smiley face.

Amy says nothing when she sees, but she does sigh heavily in fond exasperation.

 _Good,_ Jo thinks, and she feels her own lips quirk up into a smile. 

* * *

Sleep had given her reprieve the night before but is her enemy as the hours tick on and on into Monday, and Jo tosses and turns but she does not sleep as well in a bed on her own and the walls of her bedroom suddenly seem awfully bare as she stares at them in the dark, the only light creeping in being the moonlight from a crack in her curtains. Hypnos has come in small wisps, like trying to catch one’s breath in one’s hands on a chilly day, bringing flashes of faces and memories and by the time night is beginning to shift into day, Jo throws herself off the bed with a grumble, pulling open the drawers of her dresser and shoving clothes back and forth in her attempt to find what she is looking for. She needs to move, to do _something,_ and right now the shock to the system of cold seawater is something Jo wants in order to purge the exhaustion which clings to her, to wash away those thoughts and leave her alone. Although alone is the problem at hand; sometimes, she feels she cannot win.

With a cry of victory she tugs the black shorts she knew were hiding somewhere from the drawer and crosses to her wardrobe to grab for a long-sleeved white shirt; she changes quickly, and pulls down the sleeve of her t-shirt in a comforting manner, a reassuring manner; she does not want to see those scars.

The village is still in the early morning, dawn barely peeking its head around the horizon, but as Jo makes her way down to the harbour the sea bobs and waves crest and fall in their constant movement, never still, never ending, always _there._ Sometimes Jo cannot bear it, the waves feeling too much like the thoughts in her head, and she winces, shaking herself, striding out across the harbourfront and down onto the beach. She suddenly feels so angry, so determined to confront the sea and in turn confront the fugue of her own mind; she misses herself sometimes so much, and facing a moment where she feels desperate to claw her way back to who she used to be, she makes the most of it, stepping into the shallows.

Her shoulders tense as cold water caresses her feet, almost painful, but Jo does not care, letting out a long breath, forcing herself in deeper. She can do this, she can do this, she can….

She freezes.

Curly blonde hair is there again, in the corner of her eye, and Jo slowly turns to look, to see a familiar face smiling at her with that knowing smirk, those loving eyes; her breath stutters, heart skipping a beat. That isn’t possible. How can that be possible?

She is so shocked, so taken aback, that she follows blindly as River beckons her towards where she is stood by the rocks which stretch out from the beach and into the sea, waves crashing against them in disharmony. She barely feels the rough craggy feel under her bare feet- oh, she had forgotten to put shoes on- and she clambers over the rocks faster, eager to get to River who stands still, gesturing for her to join her.

Jo thinks she hears her name being called, but River is _there_ and she cannot take her eyes off of her, cannot miss this chance; determination to rid herself of all she has become is forgotten in the face of her wife, and Jo desperately moves towards her, coming to a stop at where earth meets ocean, toes curling into the slippery rocks.

 _To me, my love._ River says, and Jo’s breath stutters in her chest as River gestures down to the sea, and she looks down into the swirl. She knows this is dangerous, she knows this is wrong, and yet-

 _I miss you so much,_ she thinks.

 _Then come to me, my love._ River says encouragingly me, and Jo feels something calm wash over her as waves lap at her feet; it is so easy to do, all she has to do is jump and she can be with River again, can be at peace. No more thinking, no more feeling, in one action she can be with her wife again.

Jo dives. 

* * *

There are arms around her, and in her shock and numbness Jo thinks _River,_ but cold water also brings clarity, and Jo realises then that it cannot be River for River is dead, and _oh god why did I see her here and oh my god did I throw myself into the sea from those rocks?!_

_And who is holding onto me now?_

Jo can barely keep up with her thoughts as her body protests movement, limbs limp as she is being pulled one way by the tide and another by the strong arm around her. She wonders whether she should be breathing, whether she should try and open her eyes and fight against the heavy weight on her chest, but just as natural instinct kicks in and she begins to feel adrenaline flood through her in panic, her head is breaking from the water and into clear air.

Breathing is still hard, and the arm around her is becoming an iron-like grasp which traps her, until suddenly she is being taken by something and dragged from the sea to the sand, clothes water-logged, body not protesting, unable to stop whoever is pulling her ashore.

It is only when she is finally free of the sea’s capture that Jo’s body moves with natural inclination and her lung are burning and she is convulsing and bringing up salty sea liquid. Her head is turned to the side by whoever it is that is above her, and Jo allows them to support her as she coughs and splutters and fights to figure out what the hell is going on.

“Does anything hurt, Jo?” The person says, and oh, it is Jack who is leaning over her with concern, and he helps her to slouch over herself as she tries to catch her breath, feeling as though there is salt at the back of her throat, grating against the oxygen she desperately needs so that it burns to breathe. Jo puts her head in her hands, fingers entwining with wet hair. _Does anything hurt?_ Everything. Most of all the thoughts in her head. Jo shakes her head, numb, unknowing, and then Jack’s warm but calloused hands are checking her over, and his ministrations give her a moment to collect herself; ironically, the cold water _has_ cleared her head, only the impetus for diving from the rocky place has confused her more than ever.

And it has also terrified her.

“No, nothing serious I can see, but I’ve radioed Martha, she should be here soon.” Jack is saying to her, and perhaps Jo should feel relieved she is not seriously injured but she cannot even entertain that thought right now. She barely hears Jack’s next words, “Jo, what were you _thinking?_ ”

“I-I,” She stutters, teeth chattering, mind buffering. “I don’t think I was.”

 _Maybe I’m losing it,_ she thinks hopelessly, and she feels salt-water of another kind sting at her eyes as she tries to cope with the ramifications of what has just happened. She is teetering on the precipice, about to go overboard. What will Amy say? Jo cannot bear to see the expression on her face, to have put her best friend through _another_ thing, cannot admit to what she has ‘seen’. She is alone, has always been alone, it seemingly destined to be alone….

Until…

“Well, thank god you’re alright.” Jack says, followed shortly by, “And thank god Yaz here is a such a maniac as to dive in after you without thinking twice!”

Jo blinks, and looks up, noticing there is another figure looming over her. Another figure, whose arm had been wrapped around her moments ago, who had dragged her from the water, whose eyes are wide and concerned and holding no disgust or judgement at all, whose lips quirk up in a small, friendly smile.

Yaz.

Suddenly Jo does not feel as alone, and the thought is terrifying, clashing against the terror already filling her, but it is also… exhilarating. She feels something other than numb.

She smiles back.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” She jokes.

Something other, indeed.


	2. Look Like a Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz wants a relaxing evening in. Jo wants to 'experiment' with her hair... what could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today so this week I've gone with some fun, soft, domestic fluff to treat myself lol! Special thanks to @emmyphant as she helped come up with the idea in the first place! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Yaz shuts the front door behind her with a heavy sigh carrying the entire weight of her frustration with the day. She slumps herself against the wood for a moment as she lets out a long breath, letting her shoulders drop and unclenching her jaw so as not to make the tension headache aching across her forehead any worse. She is home. It is the evening. She can relax.

“Hiya!” Jo’s voice calls to Yaz from the kitchen, and Yaz smiles as the scent of cooking food wafts her way, peeling herself away from the door and padding through their front room and down the couple of steps into the kitchen.

“Hey, babe.” She greets Jo, stopping by her to peck a kiss on her cheek before she heads for the kettle, filling it with water from the tap before returning it to its place and switching it on to boil. Jo smiles her way as she continues to stir whatever concoction bubbles in the pot on the stove. She is wearing an apron which has a print of a knight’s armour on it which they had brought from their trip to a medieval castle in the south, and every time she sees it Yaz’s mouth quirks up in a smile in remembrance of that day. “How was your day?”

“Pretty quiet, got some writing done. Managed to organise a meeting with Mrs Grose for the book. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it.” Jo replies with a quirked eyebrow at her last remark, and Yaz sends her a smirk as she moves past her to reach for a mug from the cupboard. She motions to Jo to ask if she wants one herself, but Jo shakes her head, and Yaz places her lone cup down on the spare counter space not taken up by the labours of Jo’s cooking. A passionate cook her partner is, but a tidy one…. Definitely not.

“Did you manage to convince Jack to come along?” She asks, fiddling with the tight bun her hair is pulled back into, already itching to let it loose.

Jo nods and rolls her eyes. “Not without a price, though. Cheeky sod wants some royalties!”

“Pretty sure he were probably joking.” Yaz reasons as she grabs for a tea bag, depositing it in her mug.

Jo considers this with a shrug. “Maybe, but he still made me take a picture of him and Mrs Grose that he wants to go _in_ the book. He’ll be wanting to be on the front cover next!”

Yaz offers her a weary smile, too exhausted to summon anything else as the kettle boils and Yaz pours the steaming liquid into her mug, watching the tea bag begin to tinge it a rich soil colour. Jo notices Yaz’s quietness, eyeing Yaz up and down as she continues to stir at her concoction. “Long day?”

Yaz nods and lets out a long sigh as she retrieves the milk from the fridge. “Just some trouble with some of the kids around here. Well, adults, but…. Young adults. Seventeen, eighteen, like. They’ve got nought much else to do so they cause trouble, some of them do. It’s sad to see, actually.”

Jo nods in understanding.

“I just tell them over and over, every time this happens, not to throw their chance away, but it’s harder for them to listen, isn’t it, when they feel like the world is against them?” Yaz asks her partners as she stirs the milk into her tea and dumps the tea bag into the small metal bin in the corner of the kitchen. Jo is watching her softly when Yaz turns back to her.

“Yeah. It is. But you know what?” She asks Yaz, and Yaz raises her eyebrows in a ‘what?’ gesturing.

Jo smiles and points at Yaz with her spoon, flicking red sauce all over the apron, fortunately, and not her jumper. “They’ve got _you_ looking out for them. Don’t think everyone is as lucky as they are to get Sergeant Khan looking out for them and encouraging them.”

Yaz ducks her head, fighting to keep the smile off her face as she feels love bubbling up inside her, just like the kettle boiling, warm and fulfilling. She is not sure she quite agrees with Jo to the extent the other woman means, she does not think she makes _that_ much difference, but it is nice to get validation of one’s efforts.

“Tell you what I think you need?” Jo asks, throwing her spoon into the pot and moving away from the stove to pull Yaz into her embrace, Yaz moving so that her arms are wrapped around the other woman’s neck. “I think you need a shower, and then my delicious homemade cooking, and then a lazy evening on the sofa. What do ya think?”

Yaz contemplates this with a warm smile, looking into her partner’s eyes. “So long as that means no history documentaries.”

“Ah, what, I thought you liked those?” Jo frowns, looking confused.

“I do like them, just when I can actually watch them and not have _you_ talk over them.” Yaz jokes with her, secretly never minding when her partner gets over-excited and spouts off facts as they sit and watch the television, giving the presenter a run for their money.

Jo pouts, but she is unbothered as she replies, “Deal.” She knows Yaz is not serious, too.

She presses a quick kiss to Yaz’s lips before she pulls back again, returning her attention back to her bubbling pot as it sputters and gasps under the heat of the stove. “Go, shower, and in half an hour or so…. The delights of my spaghetti pomodoro will greet you.”

Yaz smiles, picking up her mug of tea and ready to make her departure. She rests her chin on Jo’s shoulder for a moment as she passes, however, pressing a kiss to her cheek, the other woman’s hair tickling against her cheek and nose. “I love you.”

Jo leans into the kiss, but her attention is on the pasta, the smell dent in her brow from concentration present as she focusses on watching her sauce come together. “Love you too. Now go on, there is a _connoisseur_ at work.”

Yaz laughs as she shakes her head affectionately and moves away from Jo, making her way into the front room and towards the staircase. The shower beckons, and soon after dinner and irreplaceable time spent with her partner. After a long, well, after any day, but _especially_ after a long day, the thought of that is just… perfection. 

* * *

It is much later, and the wind whistles outside whilst the fire crackles in the grate, and Jo and Yaz lay supine on the sofa, Yaz between Jo’s legs, head resting on her chest while the other woman runs a hand through her hair, clutching a mug of tea with her other hand. The long strands are soft and smooth between her fingers, freshly washed, and Jo relishes the feeling under her fingertips.

“I love your hair down.” Jo says into the quiet, both having decided to keep the television off for the time being, simply content to watch the fire burn. “You have it up so much of the time. It’s nice to see it down.”

“S’bit too long to have it down all the time.” Yaz comments, sipping at her own tea. “S’not practical. Especially not with the wind which blows ‘round here.”

“I love it.” Jo observes, admiring the dark strands as she runs them through her fingers. Yaz sighs, settling further back into Jo’s hold, nuzzling her head against the other woman’s chest. Jo moves her fingers from the long strands of Yaz’s hair to her scalp, massaging at it lightly until Yaz is practically melting into her touch. Jo smiles, pleased.

They lie in the quiet for a while, listening to the play of the fire, and Yaz feels herself begin to get woozy, so incredibly comfortable in her partner’s hold. She stirs only when Jo breaks the silence with a question.

“Can I try something?” Jo asks Yaz.

“Hmm?” Yaz asks her, blinking her eyes awake. Jo fingers move from her scalp to trail through the long strands of her hair again.

“Can I do some experiments with your hair?”

Yaz frowns, turning her head to try and get a glimpse at her partner’s face.

“What do you mean by ‘experiments’?” She asks sceptically, eyes flitting to the kitchen, to the scissors sequestered in one of the drawers. Jo’s face scrunches up as she thinks.

“Just like plaits and things. You know like they have on those fantasy programmes?” Jo says, and Yaz sits up, placing her cup of tea down on the coffee table and turning to face Jo, who admires Yaz’s hair, catching at a strand between her fingers. “When the women always have these intricate updos and it makes them look even more gorgeous?”

Yaz rolls her eyes and smirks. She quirks an eyebrow Jo’s way. Jo smirks back and biting her lip she leans forward so that her face is mere inches from Yaz’s. “Makes them look like deities. Like divine goddesses.”

Their eyes play with each other, flitting with amusement and adoration in their turn. The fire reflects in Jo’s eyes, and they glint gold with those flames as well as her mischief. To Yaz, she is the deity.

“I’d rather you make me feel like a goddess in other ways.” She says cheekily, and her smirk widens at Jo’s sharp intake of breath. “But alright.”

“Brilliant!” Jo says with childlike excitement, and the tension is broken as she springs up off the sofa, sloshing her tea all over the front of her jumper. She tuts but pays it no more heed as she places her mug down on the coffee table and sets off for the upstairs. “You stay there! I’ll grab the hair things!”

Yaz shakes her head slowly and watches with amusement as her partner dashes up the stairs two at a time, wincing slightly but giggling when Jo slips and stumbles up them before continuing on her way. “Nutter.” Yaz mutters affectionately, and turns to reach for the television remote where it rests on the coffee table, flicking the set on before shuffling down from the sofa and onto the floor, setting down a cushion to sit on; she figures it will be easier for Jo to deal with her hair when she is higher than Yaz.

Jo soon returns with the sound of feet thumping down the stairs and then she is flumping down onto the sofa behind Yaz, spilling hairbrushes and combs and hair ties and bobby pins down on the cushion beside her. She runs a hand through Yaz’s hair from the crown of her head to the very ends, and Yaz can practically _feel_ her thinking behind her. Well, she can tell Jo is thinking by the tapping of her foot against Yaz’s back.

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm?” Yaz asks Jo, eyebrow raised. She tries to turn her head to peer back at her partner, but Jo keeps her hands on the top of Yaz’s head.

“No moving! I’m thinking.” She says, and Yaz keeps her head forward with a smirk.

They remain in silence for a while as Jo thinks, only accompanied by the fire, the wind and the comforting mumbling of the people on the television. Yaz is not sure exactly what they are watching, or rather not watching, more focussed on the feel of Jo’s hands on her head. It is relaxing, and Yaz feels herself begin to melt again.

Only, the moment she does, suddenly Jo is separating her hair into separate parts and beginning to pull it backwards, and Yaz is brought back into full awareness as her scalp is tugged on.

She tries to make sense of what Jo is doing, but it is rather hard to tell, only that her movements seem fast, and quite… excited. Yaz frowns as her scalp is tugged on again… is that a braid Jo is doing?

“Babe?” She asks. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“’Course!” Jo replies.

“Only, you haven’t got a reference photo or anything.”

“Reference is in my head, Yaz!” Jo replies confidently. “Don’t need to look at it again. It’s all up here…!”

Fifteen minutes and a sore scalp later, Yaz is beginning to think maybe her doubts were well founded and Jo does not, in fact, have any clue what she is doing.

“Maybe it’s because I just washed it so it’s too smooth to want to stay in place?” Yaz tries to console her as Jo desperately tries to get a plait to stay pinned in place. It rests across Yaz’s forehead, and Yaz wonders what on earth she looks like.

“But I’ve stuck ‘bout fifty pins in here, that’s got to make it stay!” Jo protests, sounding a little frustrated. The sofa dips against Yaz’s back as Jo pulls back, humming as she considers her creation. She gasps suddenly as a thought comes to her, making Yaz jump. “Maybe I could construct something to hold it? Some kind of wire thing! We’ve got a spatula that could-”

“What? Jo, no!” Yaz protests, holding onto her partner’s thigh from behind her as she feels Jo move to jump off the sofa. She shuffles round, looking up at her partner with wry amusement. “I think that’s going one step too far.”

“But it’s not working, Yaz!” Jo protests, throwing her hand up in the air in frustration. Her face scrunches up and she reaches for Yaz’s hair once more. “Maybe I could-”

Yaz moves out of Jo’s way and takes her hand in her own, dropping it to the sofa cushion. “Babe, it’s getting late, and I’m tired, and… maybe you could just play with my hair? Not try and do something complicated with it?”

Jo must notice the exhaustion in Yaz’s eyes, both women very adept at reading each other, for she makes an ‘o’ shape with her mouth before it snaps closed and she gives Yaz a bashful smile. “Right. Got a bit carried away there. Sorry.”

Yaz shoots her a smile as soft as fudge and leans forward, peering up into Jo’s eyes, the flames of the fire reflecting in them. “I appreciate you wanted to do something nice for me, babe, but honestly? Just playing with my hair while we relax and watch telly would be perfection.”

Jo smiles back, “Okay.” She says, and she bends down to give Yaz a kiss. She goes to begin pulling the braids from Yaz’s hair, but Yaz stops her before she can.

“Hang on. Can I see?” She reaches for her phone on the coffee table, flicking it to the camera function.

Jo wets her bottom lip with her tongue. “Err, Yaz, maybe you don’t have to-”

But Jo’s warning is too late, and Yaz already has the phone raised to her face before Jo can finish talking and is making an exclamation of surprise.

“Oh my-” Yaz gapes, moving her head back and forth as she takes in just what Jo has done. “Jo!”

“What? I tried my best!” Jo protests, but Yaz cannot keep the giggles from bursting out of her as she takes in Jo’s…. creation. Her hair might best be described as a bird’s nest, with long strands piled high in a circular motion on the crown, the rest untouched but sticking out at random angles as it has been dragged halfway up, as if reluctant taggers on to its braided sisters, towards the top of her head. Yaz shakes her hair, placing her phone back on the coffee table and turning towards Jo again, placing both hands on her thighs and leaning up to gaze up at her.

“I love it.” She says, and Jo rolls her eyes, looking petulant.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not!” Yaz protests. She leans forward further, until her nose almost brushes Jo’s chin. “Jo…?” She asks, drawing out her partner’s name. Jo glances her way before she looks determinedly at the ceiling sulkily. Yaz’s hand trails up her thigh, moving lightly against the skin. Jo fidgets.

“Yaz… No, Yaz!” She exclaims as Yaz’s hand gets higher and higher, tickling her skin and then swooping in for her side, where Yaz knows she is particularly ticklish. Jo falls back against the sofa, trying her best not to laugh but failing miserably, and Yaz grins, leaning over her, continuing her merciless attack.

“You wanna know why I love it?” Yaz asks the other woman as Jo gasps for breaths past for laughter. 

“No!” Jo replies petulantly, in between breaths, but Yaz grins and presses on.

“Because you did it, because it’s so you.” Yaz replies, finally ceasing her tickling tirade. She leans on the heels of her hands with arms either side of Jo’s body, her ‘styled’ hair a heavy weight as she peers down at Jo.

Jo blinks, red face, her own hair a fuzzy mess. “A complete mess?”

Yaz tuts and pokes Jo in the arm. “No. You know what I mean!”

Jo’s breathing calms, her eyes lock with Yaz’s. Her hand comes up, brushing against Yaz’s cheek. Yaz turns her head and presses a kiss to Jo’s palm. The fire crackles.

Jo’s hand moves from Yaz’s cheek to her hair, fingertips brushing against it. “It really does look terrible.”

Yaz giggles, pushing herself off of Jo and back onto the floor. “Take it out, then, it’s really starting to itch.”

Jo shifts herself upright and begins to pull the pins from Yaz’s hair. She works in silence as her work slowly deconstructs, and Yaz grabs at her tea from the coffee table and takes a sip.

“So, if the hairstyle didn’t work out…” Jo asks, tone suggestive, and Yaz cocks an eyebrow. “Does that mean I get to show you you’re a goddess in other ways after all?”

Yaz’s coughs as her tea goes up her nose instead of down her throat, and she leans forward as she brings equilibrium back to her sinuses, pushing her tea to the other side of the coffee table. She turns back to look at Jo with watery eyes. Jo is smirking, trying to hide her amusement. “I’m holding you to that.” Yaz says.

“You deserve it.” Jo says as Yaz turns back and she continues to pull the pins from her hair. “You work so hard, Yaz. Do so much for everyone.”

Yaz shrugs. “It’s my job, it’s not a burden.”

“I don’t just mean your job.” Jo says, arm moving into Yaz’s range of vision as she deposits the pins onto the coffee table. Soon after her fingers are moving through Yaz’s hair to undo the plaits. It is relaxing, and Yaz’s eyes flutter closed at the sensation. “You’re brilliant you are. Amazin’.”

“You flatter me.” Yaz says, allowing her head to tip back as she relaxes into Jo’s ministrations, the other woman’s fingers working out the last of the plaits, beginning to simply run through Yaz’s hair.

“I love you.” Jo replies, simply, naturally, so used to it the words slip off her tongue like silk. Yaz’s hair feels like silk, too, slipping through her fingers, both women softened and smoothed in the warm glow of the fireplace.

“I love you, too.” Yaz murmurs back, and Jo smiles softly as her hands keep moving through Yaz’s hair. Yaz’s words are the last spoken in a long while as both women melt in the warmth of the fire and of each other and the cosy atmosphere of their home together whilst the wind wails outside.

Long days are had, hard days, some harder than others, but good days too, and brilliant ones, also, but at the end of every one Jo and Yaz have their home and their comforts and, most importantly, they have each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next week.... the festive season comes to Kennock Cove! Also, thank you so much for the love and comments so far, I need to get back to them and will do that as soon as I can, but know I appreciate them so much!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1
> 
> Come say hi!


	3. Festivities (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Christmas period comes to Kennock Cove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's very cliche to do christmas fics but i'm indulging myself with these, it's a nice bit of escapism. I did think about splitting this but decided against it because there is a bit of narrative which runs through this so... hope you enjoy!

“On the count of three, we’re gonna push! You guys got it?” Jack asks, hands on hips as he watches his master plan take shape.

“Yes, but if you don’t count to three _right now_ , I’m gonna drop it on my foot!” Ryan complains, voice tight as he holds onto the weight of the tree.

“I don’t hear Yaz complaining.” Jack remarks.

Yaz scoffs, her voice tight under the strain of the weight she is helping support. “It’s cause I’m concentratin’!”

Jack smirks at the both of them. “Alright. Pushing on three.”

“Sounds like you’re birthing this tree.” Martha comments blithely as she peers round from the cabin of the truck, ready to inch the truck forward.

“I’m erecting it!” Jack replies.

Martha’s eyebrow raises. “Yes, because _that_ sounds better.”

“For god’s sake can you just count to three!” Ryan cries out, and Jack rubs his hands together excitedly, coming up to take a hold of the tree on the other side.

“One… two…. three!”

The three of them push upwards as Martha lurches the truck forward, and they carefully support the large conifer as it reaches towards the sky, coming to its full height as it stands to attention in the middle of the harbour. Jack darts underneath it once it is upright to make sure it is secure within the metal casing which holds the trunk, checking the screws which have trapped it in the metal prison have stayed put during the tree’s upright trajectory.

“Ryan! Don’t forget the supports!” Jo calls to them from where she is watching at the front of the crowd, ducking and going onto her tiptoes as she watches to make sure the tree is secured properly. She and Ryan had worked together to figure out how best the tree might be supported against the violent and merciless winds which blow through the village in the winter months. They had come up with a tether support system to go alongside the trunk support, which should leverage the tree down to the ground. Ryan leaves Yaz holding onto the truck, although she bears none of its weight now, and makes quick work of going around and securing each of the four tethers, until he is giving the group the thumbs up and Yaz and Jack step away, Martha letting the pulleys go slack and switching the engine of the truck off.

The crowd of villagers’ bursts into rapturous applause.

Jack takes a theatrical bow and Ryan gives everyone a nod and short wave, Martha looking slightly uncomfortable as she climbs out of the cabin. Yaz shoots a smile Jo’s way, which her partner returns with a wide one of her own.

“We’ll hand over to the decorating team now.” Jack announces to the crowd. “But my team and I’ll be on hand to assist with anything!”

A group of villagers comes scurrying out of the crowd and it soon afterwards disperses, villagers all going about the rest of their days now the excitement of the tree’s erection has passed. The group that remain are made up of the village council, who had made the decision to go ahead with the tree, as well as the lights which already bedeck the houses and shops lining the main street down towards the harbour and along the front.

Everybody in the village of Kennock Cove was approving bar two: Mrs Grose and Oscar.

Amy is included in that group, taking the lead of designs of decoration of the tree, and from what Yaz has heard she has had quite a few… heated arguments with some of the other council members, but has, in the end, inevitably, got her way. Yaz is curious to see what she has designed, knowing the tree at least will not look like lights have simply been thrown at it; Amy has quite the creative streak.

She dusts off her hands on her trousers as she leaves the design team to it, heading over to where Jo still stands peering up at the tree with amazement in her eyes. Yaz brushes her hand against the other woman’s arm as she comes to stand next to her, but Jo’s eyes remain fixed on the tree.

“You know if we get the timing right, the top of the tree will be perfectly positioned to have the north star as its topping.” She remarks, and Yaz gazes up, impressed.

“Really?”

“Well, depends where you’re looking from.” Jo says, face scrunching up as she considers this, and Yaz laughs, shaking her head.

“You staying to watch Amy decorate?” She asks, hoping she says ‘yes’. Even though Yaz is on duty, it would be nice to have her partner around.

“You mean watch Amy boss people around?” Jo remarks blithely, looking to where her best friend is already ordering slightly harried looking older women, pointing between them and the boxes of lights which they have rented out from a company. “Get enough of that from her myself already.” She turns to Yaz, face scrunched up in apology. “Plus, Grace was hoping for the afternoon off, and I said I’d cover. I already feel bad that she missed this.” She says, gesturing to the upright tree.

“Well, I’ll meet you down here after you finish… you’ll have time before the switching on ceremony, right? You’ll be here before then?”

Jo turns to her with kind eyes, sensing Yaz’s nervous energy. She takes her partner’s hands in her own, squeezing them despite the thick gloves Yaz wears. “Loads of time. As soon as the clock turns four, I’ll be down here like a shot.”

Yaz nods, letting out a long breath, letting her nerves settle. It will be fine if Jo is there, especially before the ceremony. She tries an attempt at a self-depreciating laugh. “Don’t know why I’m so nervous, it’s just pressing a button!”

Yaz really cannot explain why she is so nervous; she is never normally affected by public duty or being stared at by dozens upon dozens of eyes, but this time, ever since she was told she had been chosen to switch on the Christmas lights, she has been feeling a little shaky about it. She thinks, perhaps, she is worried because these people have welcomed her into their community, and she wants to show them how grateful she is, how much she values this place. Sheffield had always been her home, so she had never felt it was anything but, but Kennock Cove… it is her new home, and so crucial to her newfound happiness that it matters immensely that she be able to take that happiness and cement it in place, carve out her hole for herself here and make it a long-term thing. Being chosen by the village like this… it is like the confirmation that she did not know she needed, is not really needed since everyone has been welcoming to her from the first, but… it is significant, a physical act of acceptance. For someone like Yaz, bullied and bruised from past experiences, coming through those with the help of this place and its people… it strikes a chord of singular significance. She does not know what she would do without this place, with the people here, and so demonstrating her love feels of the utmost concern to her. It is home in more ways than one.

Jo shoots her a warm smile, soothing Yaz’s worry and warming her from the inside out as they stand on the cold street. “It’s because you care. Because you’re brilliant like that. But no one here is going to be looking at you with anything other than admiration. That’s why they chose you to turn the lights on.”

“They chose me because I’m the newest member of the community.” Yaz remarks back, but there is a relieved smile tugging at her lips, her thoughts soothed.

“Yes, and because you’ve been so amazing, they want to properly show how much they all value your being here.” Jo removes her hands from Yaz’s to rest them on the other woman’s shoulders, forcing Yaz to look into her soft, hazel eyes. “You don’t need to be worried about not being accepted, Yaz. Everyone watching tonight has chosen you because you are a part of this village. Part of our fam.” She adds, gesticulating with her head to where their friends are milling about: Amy looking like a army commander, Jack amusing a group of older women, Ryan stood by his side rolling his eyes, and Martha overseeing the carrying of heavy boxes full of lights lest someone injure themselves.

Yaz lets out a long breath, turning to look back at Jo. “I don’t think Oscar was pleased to welcome me into the community.” She quips jokingly to reassure Jo she is not seriously worried.

Jo scoffs and her nose scrunches up. “I think he’s cold to make a point. He’s doing it on purpose. Deep down… I think he secretly is glad of all of us.”

“You sure about that?” Yaz asks a little disbelievingly.

Jo makes a face. “I’ve known his type. He admires you, really, but… he’s jealous.”

Yaz nods, and drawing the conversation away from Oscar she takes the two ends of Jo’s scarf, her rainbow scarf, in her hands, pulling her closer so that Jo wraps her arms around Yaz’s neck and their noses are near brushing.

“Alright, but… will you press the button with me?”

Jo protests. “No, Yaz, they chose _you-”_

“No, I know.” Yaz interrupts. “But _I_ want you to do it with me, because I’d never have become part of this community if it weren’t for you. And… I want everyone to see how much I love you.”

Jo softens like warm caramel, her eyes filling with her love for Yaz. Yaz herself is already piping hot with her love. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do.” Yaz confirms. She smirks, and adds, “Plus, I know you, and I know you’re very excited by the prospect of pressing a big button.” Yaz remarks, and Jo grins delightedly at her like a child in a sweetshop.

“A big _red button!_ ” She exclaims. “They’re meant to be pressed, who could resist!”

Yaz tips her head back in laughter, and Jo watches delightedly to see she has managed to soothe her partner’s nerves. When Yaz tips her head back down again, she takes Jo’s face in her hands and plants a kiss on her lips. “Go on.” She says when they both reluctantly pull away. “You’ll be late.”

“I’ll see you later.” Jo says, giving into temptation to press another quick kiss to Yaz’s lips before she pulls away, leaving her with a wink before she is striding off up towards Tardis Books.

Yaz watches her go, keeping that warmth that is always burning inside her stoked with new fire.

“Err, Yaz,” Jack calls to her, looking warily at Amy as she begins to argue with an older woman on the council. “We might need your mediation skills over here.”

Yaz smirks, and heads over to where the altercation is taking place, warmed from the inside. 

* * *

The heat inside Yaz has burnt down a little as the afternoon has worn on, so that by the time four o’clock rolls around and the sun dips, unseen, everyone too preoccupied with the tree, below the horizon she is shivering with cold. Standing on the blustery harbour front all day has not helped, and she is edging on grumpy from the weather and from hunger, to the point where she just wants this lighting ceremony over so she can go back home and cuddle up on the sofa with Jo for the evening.

She is stacking the empty boxes which had held the lights now adorning the tree when she feels arms wrap around her waist, and two hands enter her field of vision, clutching two thermos flasks. She smiles widely, that warmth rallied up once more into a comforting fire.

“Hey, you.” She says and straightens and turns.

“Thought you might appreciate this.” Jo says, holding out one of the flasks for her to take. Yaz does, unscrewing the lid and met immediately with a plume of hot air and the sweet, rich smell of hot chocolate. She makes a sound of delight.

“You’re a star!” She says, and takes a sip of the creamy, sugary concoction. It is like a warm hug, and Yaz immediately feels some of the tension she did not realise she was carrying in her shoulders fall away.

“Did it go alright this afternoon?” Jo asks her, unscrewing her own flask. “Amy didn’t go too hard on them, did she?”

Yaz considers this and answers honestly, “I don’t think she went easy, but… it got the job done. Rory swooped in afterwards with pastries to soothe those who were a bit… riled by it.”

“Oh, any left?” Jo asks, head cocking around her to see if there are any remnants of the pastries left. Yaz rolls her eyes good naturedly at her partner’s diversion towards food the moment it is mentioned, but at that moment her own stomach rumbles.

“I don’t think so.” She says, screwing the lid of her thermos back on. She curls her free hand around Jo’s bicep. “But how about we go and get something to eat before the ceremony? We’ve got a little time.”

Jo nods, and immediately perks up when her eyes alight on something across the harbour. “Oh, how about fish and chips? I think we’re due, we haven’t had them for a while.”

Yaz nods, following her gaze to the fish and chip shop which sits on the harbour front, next to the large pub, and begins to lead her over. It is the little things, sometimes, Yaz thinks, that really lift your spirit. Sharing fish and chips with your partner as you bring in the festive season in the idyllic village you moved to to begin a new life with her because you’d found true happiness… that quells any grumpiness and apprehension she still feels. It makes the cold worth it. “Sounds perfect.” 

* * *

“…. The time has come, the moment we’ve all been waiting for with _avid_ anticipation.” Jack says, voice booming over the crowd of villagers as if he is speaking to a raptured audience at a music concert rather than a rather cold and tired looking group of people stood around a Christmas tree on a December evening. Most clutch cups of mulled wine, courtesy of Pond’s Pastries and Amy’s efforts to add certain perks to the menu during the festive season and look on a little bemused at Jack’s antics. The man is very much making the most of his time in the spotlight, and beside her Yaz hears Jo tut and let out a long sigh. She smirks, quelling down the waves of nerves that have come over her now they are standing to the side, ready to step forward. The hot chocolate and fish and chips seem like ages ago now, even though it was only a couple of hours, and Yaz goes over and over what she wants to say in her head.

“It is time to turn on the Christmas lights, the labour of many of us over the past few weeks.” Jack declares dramatically, and Yaz sees Ryan rub his jaw as he cringes a little. It makes her smile. “Let’s hope it’s been worth the wait, hey Amy?” Jack adds, cheekily winking Amy’s way from where she stands in the front row.

She glares at him. “Oh, just get on with it!”

Jack smirks. “Friends, Romans, countrymen,” He flings his hand out towards Yaz. “Please welcome Sergeant Khan to the stage!”

The villagers clap as Yaz makes her way onto to the stage, which is really a trailer attached to the Coastguard truck, decked out with some tinsel and proudly displaying a pedestal upon which a big red button sits. Yaz smiles at everyone, making them out just about in the dark light of the harbour. She glances to her side, seeing Jo caught half in moonlight, looking beautiful and ethereal as she beams up at Yaz. It spurs her on.

Jack sends her a wink and clambers from the trailer, leaving Yaz alone. 

“Thank you so much for welcoming me to your community.” She begins, and takes a deep breath to compose herself, a calm falling over her now she is up here, on this stage. What she wants to say suddenly becomes incredibly easy as she realises, now, that there was nothing to be afraid of, these faces peering up at her are the people who accepted her into the village and gave her the honour of switching on the lights. Her nerves leave her, that warm feeling of home settling in its place. “When I first visited Kennock Cove, I was struck by the beauty of the place, and then I got to know the people here and they made me realise just how amazing it is to be here, how supportive everyone is.” Yaz’s eyes flicker to the side, where she sees a petulant looking Oscar glaring at her, set off just a little way away from the crowd. She turns her gaze back to the crowd, picks out the familiar faces of Martha, Amy and Rory, Ryan and Jack, and Grace and Graham. She smiles. “I chose this place as my new home because it felt like it, pretty much from my first day, and it was so important to me that I could find a place here, and… safe to say I have.”

Some of the villagers murmur their approval and make sounds of awe at Yaz’s statement, and buoyed by their support, she glances over to the side, where Jo is looking on at her with a beaming smile of pride on her face. Yaz’s heart swells. She turns back to the crowd.

“And there is someone in particular who has made that home with me. Showed me how beautiful this place is and allowed me to make home my in her heart, as well. So, I’d like to invite her on stage to press the button with me, because… I love her.” Yaz states, simple as that, and she sees many of the older women in the crowd wilt. She turns to Jo, whose adoring face stares up at her. She smiles back. “And because I know how much she wants to press the big red button!”

Everyone laughs, Jo most of all, and Yaz beckons her onto the trailer. Jo clambers up and, with a helping hand from Yaz, gets herself upright without tripping over. She focuses on Yaz and only on Yaz, not looking at the crowd, not even looking down at the big red button until Yaz encourages her to, until they place their hands on it. And then the crowd is counting down from ten, and Yaz’s eyes find Jo’s, and that sense of peace increases tenfold, washing over her, and then without even really knowing she is doing it Yaz is pressing down on the button just as the group shout ‘one!’ and the Christmas tree comes alive with lights like fireflies, and the village lights flash alight and look like speckled constellations in the night sky. 

* * *

“Not bad, huh?” Jack remarks a little while later, the majority of the villagers returned to their homes, their little fam gathered around the tree along with a few stragglers who stroll along the harbour front.

“Not bad?!” Amy protests, twisting to peer down the group at Jack. “That’s hours of planning and work!”

“I meant ‘not bad’ as in excellent, amazing!” Jack replies. “ _Not_ bad!”

Amy quirks an eyebrow at that but does not complain further, and they all return to their gazing, seemingly raptured by the thing. Yaz turns her own gaze from the speckled lights of the Christmas tree to the night sky beyond, picking out constellations now familiar to her with Jo’s teachings. They are all of them singular, even though there are billions of them, just like they are, stood staring up them in their small human lives, singular, many among billions and yet never the same.

Yaz looks around at their little group, her Kennock Cove family. She thinks of all they have given her; all this place has given her: hope, happiness, newfound confidence in herself…. She is filled only with joy. Joy and peace.

“Right, I’m freezing!” Amy suddenly declares, breaking Yaz from her thoughts. She rubs her hands together and stomps her feet against the ground. “And tired and hungry. We’re off!”

“Oh, thank god.” Rory says, teeth chattering as he speaks, giving them all a short wave of farewell as he and Amy turn and make their way across the harbour to the café.

“We should probably make a move, too.” Grace says, linking her arm through Graham’s, both of them bundled up warm in their winter coats. She winks at Yaz and Jo. “Me and Graham have a date night tonight, don’t we love.”

“That we do.” Graham says, and he leans in almost conspiratorially. “And Grace is about to enjoy the pleasures of my chicken tikka masala. I’ve got it on the slow cooker.”

Yaz gives him and impressed look, and Grace and Graham bid them adieu, Grace pecking a quick kiss to Ryan’s cheek, who squirms. Yaz catches his eye, noting how he is stood rather close to Jack, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. He sends her a wide-eyed look of ‘what?’

“I should probably skedaddle as well.” Jack says, and he glances to his side to look at Ryan. Yaz notices and smirks. “Could do with some company, if anyone wants to join?”

“Sorry, got the early shift tomorrow.” Martha says, sounding aggrieved as she rolls her neck. “Christmas is a great time of year for celebrating, but not so much for working.”

Jack gives her a mock salute as she bids them all goodbye, heading on up the hill, and then his gaze strays Ryan’s way once more. He clears his throat. “Anyone else?”

Ryan scratches the back of his neck, making a performance of looking at the rest of their small group, which is only Jo and Yaz before he says, with an attempt at casualness, “Well, I ‘spose I could come. Would be a bit awkward if I went home now, if Graham and Gran are having date night.”

“Hmm, don’t want to intrude.” Yaz says, giving him a knowing grin, eyebrows raised.

“Right, right…” Ryan says, gesturing in her direction. He then drops his hand to his side awkwardly, and looks to Jack, not at all subtle, for help.

“Well, let’s get going then!” Jack says, his usual cheekiness back. He looks at Ryan. “Although, if I’m having to spend more time with you, I don’t know why I’m so happy about it.”

“Funny.” Ryan says deadpan, and shoving his hands into his pockets, he begins to stride up towards the village.

Jack turns to Jo and Yaz, and gives them both a wink. “Night, ladies.”

“Night!” Yaz says, and gives him a wave and a knowing look as he turns and catches up to Ryan. Yaz smiles to notice the very brief hand he places on the other man’s back before he drops it to his side.

She shakes her head, giggling softly. “I don’t know who they’re trying to fool. It’s as clear as day.” She blinks, turning to Jo when she gets no response. Jo is staring up at the tree, still, fixated. “Jo?”

“Hmm?” Jo asks, snapping out of her daze, and turning to Yaz. She blinks and looks around her. “Wait… where did everyone go?”

Yaz shakes her head once again in affection, but she watches Jo a little carefully as she asks the other woman, “Were you that caught up in looking at the tree?”

Normally, if the other woman zones out it means she is thinking hard about something significant.

Jo clears her throat and shoots Yaz a small smile. “I were just taken aback by how good it is. Amy’s done a really good job. Don’t tell her I said that.”

Yaz smiles and says no more, dropping the subject for the moment, knowing sometimes it takes Jo time to speak about things, if she wants to in the first place.

“Come on, let’s go home. I’m so tired!” Yaz says, offering Jo her arm, who takes it gladly, shooting one last look back at the Christmas tree as they wind their way back up the harbour and towards the cottage, lit by lights like sparkling stars along the way. 

* * *

“Are you sure it’s all going to fit in there?” Yaz asks Jo, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she slides her helmet over her head. “I know you’re convinced the internal dimensions are bigger than the external dimensions, but I’m not so sure, babe.”

“It’ll be fine!” Jo reassures her, breath clouding in the winter air as she shoots Yaz a smile, face a little squished in her helmet. She looks adorable. “Besides, how much are we going to buy? I thought we were only _looking_ for gift ideas?”

Yaz shrugs. “Well, you never know.”

She finishes adjusting her helmet, making sure it is on properly before she straightens her jacket and double checks her pocket for her keys, phone and wallet. With everything there, she straightens.

Jo holds out her hand. “Care to alight my noble steed, fine lady?”

Yaz quirks an eyebrow and takes Jo’s hand. “As long as you don’t expect me to sit side-saddle.”

“Oh no.” Jo says and she makes a play of helping Yaz sit down upon the seat of her Vespa. “You can spread your legs.”

Yaz looks to her with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, a giggle bubbling up inside her, waiting for Jo to clock what she has just said. It takes a moment, but when she does Jo’s eyes go wide with comical aghast, and Yaz tips her head back as she laughs with abandon.

“Oh, err, I didn’t really mean it…” Jo scrambles to think what to say, cheeks going pink. “What I meant was…”

“Babe, I get it, and I’m sorry, but… that was the funniest thing you’ve ever said.” Yaz says, still unable to control her laughter. Jo’s lips quirk upwards, too, and she catches Yaz’s bug and begins to giggle herself as she settles onto the seat in front of Yaz.

“I just didn’t _think_ it was going to sound that bad.” She says, turning the key in the ignition so that the vespa splutters to life.

Yaz gets a hold of herself and takes a few deep breaths, humming contently as she wraps her arms around Jo’s middle, leaning into her as they ready to depart. Just before Jo pushes forwards, Yaz leans in and whispers in her ear, “You can say that to me again later.”

The vespa lurches forwards before Jo engages the breaks and Yaz feels her breathing under her hands. She smirks, pressing a kiss to Jo’s neck before resting her head on her shoulder. “Let’s get a shift on.”

Jo clears her throat. “Right… yep.” She says, and then they are trundling up the small road from their garage and to the main road, Yaz holding tight to Jo and soaking in her warmth as the brisk winter air passes them by. 

* * *

“Should’ve known it would be so busy, it is a Saturday after all.” Yaz comments as they walk hand in hand along the harbour of Padstow, dodging other couples and families and single people who slalom through the crowds. Yaz holds on extra tight to Jo’s hand to make sure the other woman does not go toppling over the railing and into the harbour water down below, which sloshes as boats chug in and out.

“But it’s not the Christmas holidays yet, right?” Jo asks her as she dodges a small child running through the streets with candycane in hand. “It’s only the fifth!”

“I think we’ll just have to admit, we cannot avoid crowds sometimes.” Yaz says. “But come on, I want to check out these stalls.”

Along the harbour front of Padstow, a larger fishing port than Kennock Cove, is lined with stalls under small gazebos in print reds and greens as a Christmas market takes place, cashing in on the visitors just before the festive holiday and bringing some ambient feeling for this time of year. A brass band plays in the centre of the harbour, adding a sentimental and soothing feel to air, and Yaz feels warmed from the inside as she had done last weekend switching on the lights in Kennock. Sheffield has its Christmas market, and many a time has she been, but this is different, not better, but different, a particularly Cornish twist to proceedings. Yaz sees small carts selling roasted chestnuts, toasted marshmallows, and churros, but she also sees those selling fishy delicacies, fish cakes and small pies. She cannot look at fish pie ever since Jo told her about stargazy pie back in the summer in Penzance.

The stalls, too, have a Cornish twist as they sell locally made produce and items: Yaz sees jewellery, scarfs, hats, blankets and throws she thinks might look good on their bed, and she also sees…

“Oh look! They’re so cute!” She exclaims in delight, leading Jo over to a pottery stall selling a variety of kilned items, including small figure of seals, smooth and rounded and painted carefully to look like miniatures of the real-life mammal. Their small beady eyes look up at her from the display with a puppy-like adorableness, and Yaz finds herself so taken by the small pottery figures, as she had been by the real thing when Jo had taken her seal spotting in early October. “Jo, look at these!”

“Ahh, grey seals!” Jo exclaims, bending down to scrutinise the small figures. She nods her head, impressed. “Extremely fine detail.”

The stall owner nods his thanks. “They come in a pair. The small is the pup, and the bigger the mother.”

“Jo, they’re gorgeous.” Yaz murmurs almost reverently.

“Oh, look! Salt and pepper shakers!” Jo suddenly exclaims, darting across to the other side of the stall to admire a pair of shakers designed to look like lighthouses. Yaz sighs, and with reluctance turns from the pair of pottery seals. 

* * *

“You want some churro with that jam?” Yaz blithely asks Jo an hour or so later as the other woman dips her fried snack into the pot of jam the woman at the cart had provided her with on top of the jam filling the treat when Jo had requested it, stuffing it into her mouth. They sit on a hill overlooking the port, having trailed along half of the market before deciding to stop for food before battling with the second half. They have come up the hill to escape the hordes of people milling about down below, and they are granted a beautiful view of the sea sparkling in the December sun. Around them, laid out on the grass, they have collected a few bags and packages of gifts for family and friends, and Yaz feels pretty pleased with what she has bought so far, although she cannot stop her thoughts from trailing back to the seals. 

“Jo?” She prompts when Jo does not reply to her questioning, gaze faraway as she stares down at the market, munching on her churro. Yaz fiddles with her own churro, the sugar sticky on her fingers, and gently nudges her partner’s shoulder.

“Hmm?” Jo asks, head whipping round to look at Yaz. Yaz’s concern falls to the side at the sight of Jo with sugar and jam smeared all over her lips. Yaz giggles.

“Enjoying that are you?” She says with a pointed nod at Jo’s lips, and the other woman makes an ‘oh’ sound and goes to lick it away with her tongue, but before she can Yaz leans in and kisses her, licking it all away with _her_ tongue.

Jo’s breath stutters out of her when they break apart, and her pupils are dilated when she looks into Yaz’s eyes, back in the present, and Yaz feels her concern ease. She smiles.

“What has gotten into you today?” Jo asks, although she does not sound as if she is complaining, quite the opposite, actually.

Yaz shrugs and trains her eyes on Jo’s lips as she sees the woman’s tongue dart out to quickly swipe at some small grains of sugar still sticking stubbornly to her skin. “Spending the weekend with my girlfriend, enjoying the festivities… sounds pretty perfect to me.”

Jo smiles, and Yaz sees the last remains of any of the thoughts which had just captured Jo seep away, replaced instead with calm and joy, she finding as much comfort as Yaz does in simply knowing they _have_ each other.

“It is perfect.” Jo replies, and it is her turn for her eyes to drift down to Yaz’s lips. “You’re perfect.”

She leans forward, capturing Yaz in a sugary kiss, and then their food is forgotten, the crowds below forgotten, the sea beyond them forgotten. It is just them. Jo and Yaz. Even the cold wintery frost on the ground below them melts away. 

* * *

“ _Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, so if you’ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”_

The old crooner sings out into their front room as Jo and Yaz work busily to decorate their cottage for the festive season. Since getting back from Padstow and after a quick lunch they had gotten on with collecting together the decorations they had ordered, seeing as neither of them had previously owned any, and had hastily unpackaged them to begin decorating, switching on the Christmas tunes for some background ambience.

Yaz feels warmed from the inside once more, and not just from the hot chocolate Jo had made them both, as she steps back to survey their work so far after pinning the last piece of garland in place to the mantlepiece. The garland is artificial, but it looks effective enough with its ‘snow-dusted’ berries and leaves and the pinecones curling in on themselves, and the small set of fairy lights Yaz had woven through the decoration adds another level to it which makes Yaz smile widely.

She nods, pleased with herself.

“How you getting on babe?” She asks Jo as she leans down to swipe up her mug of hot chocolate and taking a sip she turns to see how Jo is progressing. She near chokes on the liquid, and coughs to clear her throat at the sight of her partner, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she fights giggles.

Jo is stood in a tangled mess of lights, which have somehow gotten twisted around one leg, along her torso and up to her arm. In her efforts to free herself, she is only tightening their hold, and thus making it worse, and she looks to Yaz a little bashfully as she hops in place to try and untangle her leg.

“Yeah, it’s going fine! Good, even!” She says, staggering and almost falling into the wall. She looks to Yaz with a sheepish grin. “Little help here?”

Yaz places her mug down and steps forward to release Jo from the fairy light restraint. “How did you even get like this?” She asks as she begins unwinding the lights from her arm.

“You know, I’m not quite sure.” Jo says. “I was trying to unravel them and then… it’s like they’ve got a life of their own, Yaz!”

“Ahh, so it was the lights’ fault?” Yaz says with a cheeky grin at her partner as she begins to unwind the ones twisted around her torso.

“Obviously.” Jo says, scoffing. Finally, Yaz unwinds the last strand and Jo is free. Yaz straightens and shakes her head at Jo in fond exasperation. “There. Freed you.”

“My knight in shining armour.” Jo says jokingly, and Yaz quirks an eyebrow. She takes a step closer, discarding the lights in her hand to the pile on the floor.

“Knight? I was your lady earlier.” She remarks, sliding her hands around Jo’s neck. Jo’s hands come to rest on Yaz’s waist.

“You can be both. You can be whatever you want to be.” Jo says, and her nose scrunches up in consideration. “I, for one, sometimes think I would want to be a time traveller. In her own little spaceship, travelling through time… and space! Can’t forget that! Time _and_ space!”

Yaz smiles, leaning in even closer. “Any room for me in that spaceship?”

“Obviously.” Jo says. “It’d be infinite inside, space for anyone at all that wanted to travel on it. All the fam, but you especially, Yaz.”

“Sounds amazin’. Let’s do it!”

She presses her lips to Jo’s and the kiss stretches out languidly for minutes. The Christmas music sings a sweet melody in the background, the fire is crackling in the hearth, and Yaz feels so content, so, so incredibly happy. When she and Jo eventually break apart, a little breathless, she tips her forehead against Jo’s and just smiles.

“We can’t actually go, Yaz.” Jo then states bluntly and Yaz chuckles.

“No, I know.” She says, twining her fingers into Jo’s hair, feeling where it is still slightly knotted from the blustery winds of their trip that morning. “But just dreaming it is enough for me.”

Jo looks at her as if she is the eighth wonder of the world. Her voice shakes just a little when she speaks. “I love you so much, Yaz. You know that, right?”

Of course Yaz does, and Yaz understands what Jo is saying without speaking it to her here, as they stand so close together as to almost be inseparable. Yaz does not dissuade Jo her ‘eccentricities’, does not judge her, does not do anything but love her and know her, and indulge her when they share a cosy afternoon in their flat, uninterrupted, able to revel in being together. Yaz loves her unconditionally.

“’Course I do.” She replies, bringing one hand round to cup Jo’s cheek. “And I love you, too. More than I could ever possibly hope to express.”

“I think you do a pretty good job.” Jo concludes, smiling, and Yaz smiles back, and then they are kissing again, and they curl into each other, decorations forgotten for a moment as they take a moment to simply be with each other, to make the most of this time, to realise… they actually _have_ this. This… their relationship, their home, their life together…

It is perfection. 

* * *

“ _Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be bright. From now on, your troubles will be out of sight…!”_ Yaz sings quietly to herself as she pours the freshly made tea into the two mugs laid out on the counter. It is later, nearing sunset, and she and Jo have finally finished their decorating. As Yaz collects the full mugs into her hands and pads through to the main living room, she pauses in the entryway to admire them.

Along with the garland she had draped across the mantlepiece, another snakes around the bannister railing, also decorated with lights which twinkle lazily. There is a large pillar candle, one with a fake LED flame, decorated with small wreath on their window, glinting softly against the fading light outside, and then, the piece de resistance…

Their Christmas trees sits in the corner of the room, directly to Yaz’s right as she peers in, on the opposite side of the room to the front door and the window; they had chosen that spot so that it would be one of the first things they saw when they came home from busy days. The tree is bedecked in tinsel and multicoloured lights, as well as baubles and some novelty decorations picked out by the both of them, and Yaz admits that they might have gotten a little…. Overexcited in their choices.

Jo had gone mainly for the space theme with her ornaments, choosing a rocket, as well as a crescent moon and a small figurine of an astronaut. Yaz had been stumped as to what to choose at first, but had eventually been enamoured by a bauble decorated intricately with a skyline of Sheffield she had found on Etsy, a small reminder of her childhood home there for her to admire. She had also selected some beautifully decorated baubles, as well as a small figure of a knight, which she likes to think of as King Arthur, and, her favourite, a goose decoration. 

It is a very uniquely _them_ tree, and it makes Yaz almost giddy with joy to see it sitting prominently in the corner of the room.

“Here ya go, babe.” She says to Jo as she comes into the room, holding Jo out her cup of tea. The other woman is stood by the fire, looking intently at the Christmas tree, thinking hard, Yaz can tell, by the indent in her brow. Yaz herself frowns; this is the third time she has noticed it in a week. “Jo?”

“Hmm?” Jo jumps, and looks surprised to see Yaz stood next to her. Her eyes are wide and dry, as if she hasn’t blinked in a long while. She takes her tea from Yaz with a small ‘thanks’.

“You okay?” Yaz asks her, taking a small sip from her mug.

Jo sighs, and Yaz can see her contemplating her words as she goes on looking at the tree. “Yeah… I am, just… thinking. Hard.”

“Want to talk about it?” Yaz asks casually, crossing her arm over torso.

Jo sighs once again, and her mouth opens and closes a few times as she tries to formulate her thoughts into words. Finally, she speaks. “I’m so incredibly happy, Yaz. All of this… here, the village, _you,_ spending Christmas together… it’s wonderful, better than anything I ever dreamed of when I was a kid.” She says with a small sad smile, and Yaz nods understandingly. Bit by bit Jo has confided to her more about her childhood, its difficulties, its constant tribulations. Jo takes a fortifying sip of her tea before she continues. “But I think my head’s just reeling a bit, because it _is_ all so fantastic. I… last year, it was so miserable. Amy and Rory did their best but we… but I….” She sighs, biting the inside of her lip as she closes her eyes against the onslaught of memories. Her hand curls into a fist by her side, shaking slightly, and Yaz takes it in her own hand, encouraging Jo to relax, to work through it. Yaz knows she can; she has been working so incredibly hard in the past few months. “Well, it wasn’t good, and I just spent the whole time missing her, and… I do now, and it’s all messing with me because I am so overwhelmed by how happy this is all making me and yet I still feel sad that she is not here, and trying _not_ to feel guilty about that, and I…” She trails off, lost for words, and takes a large gulp of her tea.

“Of course you’re going to miss her still.” Yaz says. “Doesn’t mean this doesn’t matter any less to you than it might have done.”

Jo sniffs, and Yaz squeezes her hand, moving in closer. “It’s okay. You know I would never mind. Just like with everything else. I want you. _All_ of you. Unconditionally.” 

Jo sniffs again, and in the glimmering light of the fire tears sparkle in the corners of her eyes like beaded amber. “Whatever comes…”

“Whatever comes.” Yaz reaffirms. When Jo begins to cry even harder, she leans in further, brow creased with concern. “Hey…”

“Sorry.” Jo says, sounding cut up from the inside. Yaz frowns again and takes Jo’s mug from her, placing them both down on the coffee table. When she turns back to Jo, she takes her hands in her own. “Sorry, it’s just…” Shimmering eyes meet Yaz’s, and Yaz can see the swell of emotion in them, turning over and over in waves. “I’m so grateful for you. For what we have here? After River I… well, I felt broken, hopeless.”

Yaz nods, stomach clenching at the memory of that evening many months ago, of a clifftop, of a spectre, of forgiveness and new hope.

“Well, I’d felt like that for a long time before River died. I mean, you know this…” She says, and Yaz nods again, squeezing Jo’s hands. She is relieved they are having this conversation, in a way, it shows her hard work in therapy is working. “It was all I ever thought I had, sometimes, all I ever _was_. But now….” She takes a shuddering breath, and Yaz steps closer, bringing their joined hands up between both of their bodies, staring intently into Jo’s eyes, seeing the truth of her soul reflected there like a mirror. She smiles at Yaz through her tears, and Yaz smiles back, feeling some of her own glinting in her own eyes. “I’m starting to see that’s not the case. That the past doesn’t define me. _This_ does. This, our life here. And there’s a place for the past here, we don’t forget about it, but we don’t let it rule us. I’m so grateful for that fact, I’m so grateful that we have _this._ ” She says, letting go of Yaz’s hands enough to gesture around them at their cosy home, the Christmas decorations gracing the space, before twining Yaz’s fingers with her own once again.

Yaz cannot stop herself from beaming, Jo words joyous to her ears. To know and see how far she has come, how far they both have come, to be stood here, in _their_ front room, having this conversation… “I feel so grateful, too, you know. For you, for this, our life,” She says, squeezing Jo’s hands. “For us getting here. I wouldn’t have thought it would have been like this, this time last year.”

Jo shakes her head. “Me neither.”

“My family, we’ve always done something on Christmas. Not as a religious holiday, obviously, but just as a time to be together and exchange presents and eat loads of food.” Yaz says, chuckling slightly.

“Do you miss them?” Jo asks her, face scrunching with concern.

Yaz smiles softly at her. “I do a bit, but we’ll be seeing them for new years, won’t we?”

Jo nods, face twisting a little with nervousness. The Khans are on their way down for the new years a few days before, just after boxing day, and Yaz thinks it is safe to say they both are a little nervous. Excited, but nervous; it will be their first visit down, so it is quite significant, no matter how easily the Khans have welcomed Jo into their family. “But, what I were going to say is…. Christmas is a time for family and loved ones, and we’ll have some time for them, we’ll have time for our family here in Kennock, too, but most importantly to me is the time with _this_ family. _Us,_ together. That we have that in the first place. That is what I’m most grateful for this Christmas. What I’m most grateful for all of the time. You. And the life you’ve given me here.”

Jo removes her hands from Yaz’s to cup the other woman’s face, eyes shining with tears and joy and relief and grief, all of her bundled up in those enigmatic autumn eyes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Yaz replies, placing her hands on Jo’s waist. Jo pulls her into a kiss, and it is deep and moving and the manifestation of how they feel for each other. Yaz wills that there will always be kisses like this.

As they break apart, ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ begins playing from the speaker in the corner, and Yaz encourages Jo to wrap her arms around her neck, and they slowly begin swaying along to the music. It is in no way a coordinated movement, but Yaz feels like she is buzzing from the joy within herself, dancing with her partner in their front room on a wintery day, whilst outside…

“Oh! It’s snowing!” Yaz exclaims, and Jo’s head whips round to follow her line of sight to through the window, where in the gathering darkness they can make out white whisps falling from the sky.

“Oh, brilliant!” Jo exclaims, eyes filled with childlike wonder, and Yaz shares that too; this all seems like something out of fiction, and yet it is real, they are real, and it is the most wonderful thing. “Do you think they’ll be enough to have a snowball fight?”

Yaz turns to her with glee. “You and me versus Ryan and Jack, what do you think?”

“Amazin’!” Jo says. “Any excuse to mess up Jack’s hair!”

They both giggle, watching the snow fall for a while as they sway slowly side to side along to the music. Jo moves closer to Yaz and rests her head on her shoulder.

_From now on our troubles will be out of sight..._

“Merry Christmas, Jo.” Yaz whispers into Jo’s ear.

“Merry Christmas, Yaz.” Jo whispers back.

And they hold each other until well after the sky has darkened outside and the snow is beginning to collect in white blanket on the ground, the fire burning away in the hearth, both content to just be together, safe in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay it's me there was going to be a little angst! Anyway, hope you enjoyed! (ps idk if anyone cares but the small seal figures are based on ones my mother actually owns and i've been enamoured to since i was a child!) If you have anything nice to say i'm not in the good place at the moment so i would love to hear it! I'm planning to have a few more chapters like this over this holiday season so if things go to plan then next week will be a snowy day in kennock cove! See you then. 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	4. A Snowy Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December is a time for putting to bed old problems and irritants before the new year starts, right? So what better time of year for Jo to clean the slate... with Oscar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was supposed to be a fun, shorter-than-the-last-chapter one shot about snow, and it's turned into this 13k redemption arc sort of thing! I hope you enjoy it, the idea came as part of a natural progression in writing the first few scenes and also with thanks to DustyRoseAesthetics who gave a suggestion for Oscar which then encouraged me this might be an interesting road to go down, seeing as Oscar's side of things felt like a bit of a loose end at the original story- So thank you to them, I hope you enjoy what I've done, and also thank you for Anobii1992 and Emmyphant for the advice and help on this one too!

“Yaz! Wake up!”

Yaz grumbles as she feels someone shaking her, nudging her head deeper into her pillow. Stark light glares against her closed eyelids, and she feels no desire to open them, wanting to slip into the soothing darkness of sleep once more.

“Yaz!”

“Ugh, what?” She groans, clenching her eyes shut before finally relenting and blinking them open. It takes her a few moments to clear her vision, but when she does, she squints against the onslaught of bright white coming through the open curtains of their bedroom. “Jo…”

“Yaz, look at it!” Jo says excitedly, moving back to the window and perching on the window seat, peering out at the view with her hand against the windowpane.

“What time is it?” Yaz asks her, rubbing at her eyes with her hand.

“’Bout nine.” Jo replies distractedly.

Yaz sighs. “Nine? It’s my lie-in day….” She had been hoping to sleep for another hour, at least.

“Yes, but Yaz it’s snowing! Still! Its beautiful!” Jo protests, and finally does Yaz gain back her compos mentis in full consciousness and memory of the evening previous come rushing back. They had spent the hours after their impromptu dance with dinner and then sitting watching the snow fall outside with all the lights off, so that no reflection impaired their view. It had gotten progressively harder to see, but Yaz had gotten the impression the snow was going to lay thick, so now…

“How deep is it?” She asks, rousing herself and sitting up on her elbows, reaching for the hoodie she had slung on the end of the bedpost on her side. She shucks it on as Jo scrunches her nose up as she considers Yaz’s question.

“It’s got to be about a foot, at least.” Jo finally concludes and Yaz’s eyes widen and she scrambles to push the duvet back and pads over to the window.

“Oh my-”

She gapes at the sight outside. It is incredibly picturesque. Yaz has seen snow, they get it often in the winter in Sheffield but this… Kennock Cove’s natural beauty has been transformed under the white hand of snow clouds, every single thing Yaz can see coated with a thick layer of snow. The sea is the only thing to have escaped its hand, and it laps lazily against white beach. The coastline in the distance is harder to see than usual through the heavy snow which still flutters down from the sky. It is an incredible sight to behold, and Yaz feels a childhood joy take hold inside of her at the sight; it seems like ‘real life’ gets put on hold when it snows this severely, and she wonders whether she and Jo might be able to make the most of this newfound excitement.

“Yaz! We’ve got to have that snowball fight!” Jo says to her with excitement, grabbing at Yaz’s arm.

Yaz feels a smile grow on her own face, too. “You’re on.” She says. “But just let me have some coffee first.” 

* * *

The sound of their feet crunching into the freshly laying snow fills Yaz’s ears as she and Jo set out from their cottage. Everything is echoing differently against her ears, the snow muffling sounds, but instead of being cloying and claustrophobic, it is comforting; they are in their own little world, their village cut off from everything else. It has its downsides, for sure, and Yaz is glad they restocked their fridge and cupboards on Friday, but it is also exciting on a Sunday when they both have nothing pressing to get to.

“Come on, babe!” Yaz calls to Jo as she waits outside their door for Jo to appear from inside their cottage. She does not know what the other woman is doing, but she stamps her feet against the ground to retain her warmth whilst she waits.

“One minute!” Jo calls to her, and Yaz sighs, breath clouding. Peering down their street, an idea comes to her. She calls to Jo, “I’m just going to check on Grace and Graham, I’ll meet you outside their’s!”

“Okay!”

Yaz trudges through the snow towards Graham and Grace’s. The cobblestones of their street and completely submerged under the thick snow, which reaches up to Yaz’s mid-calf. When she reaches Grace and Graham’s door and knocks, she finds she is a little bit breathless. This will be a good workout, at least.

The door opens a few moments later, just by a crack, and Grace’s face appears in the sliver. She brightens upon seeing Yaz, wrapped up warm Yaz with scarf around her neck and black beanie hat covering her head Yaz, but recognisably Yaz nonetheless.

“Hello, love.”

“Hi Grace, just wanted to check in with you and Graham that you’re okay.” Yaz says with a smile. “Just with this snowfall, and all.”

“Ah, that’s sweet of you.” Grace says with a smile. She edges the door a little bit wider open, but sensibly keeps the majority of the warm air inside from escaping. “We’re fine, though, I assure you of that. You going out to explore?”

Yaz nods. “Jo wants to see if anyone is up for a snowball fight.”

“Oh, I’m sure Ryan will join in.” Grace says, and Yaz internally laughs at how very much they sound like two mothers discussing children. She peers in the house a little more.

“Is he in?”

“No,” Grace says, her voice laced with a knowing, mischievous tone. “He’s not.”

Yaz’s eyebrows raise and she shares a conspiratorial look with grace at that. “Well, well.” She says. “I’ll go and seek him out, then.”

“You do that, love, and remind him to wear layers, will you?” Grace says, and Yaz laughs and assents that yes, she will. “Actually, he’s probably already out on the harbour with Jack helping him clear a path for the lifeboat if needed.”

Yaz nods. “Yeah. Jack sent me a text about that.”

“Well enjoy yourselves, love.” Grace says, and she peers past Yaz into the street. “Where’s Jo?”

“Oh, she’s-” Yaz begins to say as she turns and gestures behind her with her thumb. She stops short, however, at the sight of Jo wading towards her through the snow. “Jo, you’ve got a _surfboard_!”

“Yeah.” Jo replies casually she comes to a stop by Yaz, blowing her breath out from her cheeks. She rights the surfboard upright by sticking it into the snow and sends a smile Grace’s way. “Hi Grace!”

“Hi, love.” Grace says, and nods towards the surfboard. “Bit chilly for that today.”

Jo looks at her for a moment before she catches onto Grace’s meaning, and she grins from cheek to cheek delightedly in a way, Yaz knows, can only mean trouble. “Oh, no, it’s not for that.” 

* * *

“I’m not entirely sure about this, Jo.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Couldn’t we just walk?”

“Why do that when we have a much better means of transportation right here?” Jo asks Yaz as she finishes tying the string she had unwound from her pocket to the front of the surfboard, creating some reins. She tugs on them experimentally, pleased when they go taut, and turns to Yaz from where she is already sat on the surfboard. “Come on, then.”

Yaz bites her lip and hesitates for a moment before climbing onto the surfboard behind Jo, tucking her body in tight to Jo’s back so that her legs spread out either side of the other woman’s body. Jo tucks hers up to her chest.

“We could hit someone.” Yaz says, surveying their route nervously.

“I’ve got steering, we’ll be fine!” Jo tells her.

This is one of Jo’s less sensible ideas, Yaz cannot help but think as she looks down at the harbour in front of them, the sloping road downward covered, as the rest is, in a thick blanket of snow; a perfect surface for sledging down. Yaz is just wondering whether any unseen hazards might be a risk.

“Oh, just, do it before I change my mind.” Yaz says, wrapping her arms tight around Jo’s waist.

“Allonsy!” Jo cries, and then she pushes them off, and Yaz cannot help the cry that leaves her mouth as they are racing down the hill, gathering speed. Jo is screaming, too, laughter catching at her exclamation as they get nearer and nearer the harbour, and Yaz desperately tries to take in anything more than just the cottages whizzing past them, the sea standing strong in front of them, but it is no good; whether she likes it or not, there is nothing that can stop their descent. So, she embraces the unknown. It is easy with her arms wrapped around Jo.

The ground levels out, and they reach the main part of the harbour, and Jo pulls back on the reins, and they come dangerously close to toppling over the lip of the harbour wall and onto the beach below when they come to a stop, Jo letting go of the reigns and slumping forward, Yaz going with her, near attached to her like a koala.

“Woah!” Jo exclaims, breathless. “That were brilliant!”

“You scared me half to death.” Yaz says, levering herself upright, her own voice breathless, too. “But it was amazin’!”

Jo turns to her with delight, cheeks flushed red. “Told you! Let’s do it again!”

“Nope!” Yaz says, rolling and clambering to her feet. “Maybe later, but not now, babe… I’m not climbing back up the hill just yet.”

“Ahh, yeah, good point.” Jo says, accepting Yaz’s outstretched hand and pulling herself up.

“That were pretty impressive!” Ryan’s voice calls, and both women turn to see him and Jack watching them, their forearms propped up on big shovels, and piles of snow heaped up on either side of the coastguard station, creating a clear space for the boat to reach the sea, if needed.

“It were Jo’s idea!” Yaz calls back, and she hears Jack laugh.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He calls.

“Oi!” Jo replies back, all offence as she strides towards Jack through the snow. She might look a little more daunting to be approached by were it not for the fact that half of her legs are disappearing beneath the snow. Yaz follows after her. “I’ll have you know I calculated the risk and the speed going down there.”

Both men give her dubious looks as she comes to a stop, hands on hips, by them, and she looks between them for a moment before she sighs and relents. “Alright, fine, no I didn’t, it were all guess work. But it still _worked_!”

Jack gives her a cheeky smile. “Might have to try it myself a little later. For now…..” He holds out his hand, and Ryan throws him his shovel, which Jack catches perfectly. “The clearing is done, and I think it might be time for some play!”

Jo and Yaz share a look, a little confused at Jack’s strange wording. So caught up in looking at each other, they do not notice Ryan bending down to collect snow in his gloved hands. And then, before either of them can so much as blink, he is throwing a snowball and it hits Yaz directly in the face.

Ryan gasps and covers his mouth with his hands, but he is smiling and trying so very hard not to laugh in Yaz’s face. “Can’t believe I actually got ya!”

Yaz wipes the slushy mixture left on her face from her eyes, her skin burning with cold, and turns to Ryan with a glare. _Oh, it is on._

“You shouldn’t have done that, Ry.” She warns, bending down to collect her own mound of snow, forming it into a ball shape in her hand. She smirks as she sees Ryan’s eyes widen, and then he is backing away slowly. “You remember back at school I got that award? For sports. You remember what they said? That I had excellent aim!”

Yaz throws the snowball as Ryan moves to and fro to try and move out of its course, but it is no good, and Yaz’s snowball hits him in the face, the freezing mixture of ice sliding down his neck and under his jacket.

“Good shot, Sergeant!” Jack shouts, and Ryan looks his way.

“What the hell?” He says to Jack, and he bends quickly, forming another snowball, and Jack throws the shovels to the side and careens himself out of the way of Ryan’s throw, landing in one of the large piles of snow they have created from their shovelling.

“Uh oh, we might have just caused a domestic.” Jo says to Yaz.

“Err, I don’t think we need to be worried about that, babe.” Yaz says as she sees the two men now approaching them, gathering snow in their hands.

“Ah, right. Well spotted, Yaz.” Jo says, and they both begin to back up a little, gathering snow in their hands. Soon they are stood opposite the boys, with about ten feet between them, all holding snowballs in hand, all poised, feet planted.

“Alright, no funny business.” Jack warns, throwing a snowball up and down in his hand cockily.

“And no face shots.” Yaz says, glaring at Ryan, who glares back.

“And no shots at….” Jack says, and he looks down at himself and then back up at them. “Well, you know.”

“Are we keeping score?” Jo asks.

“Only if you want to know how badly you’re gonna lose by.” Ryan says cockily.

“Oh, sod that!” Yaz says, and throws a snowball at Ryan, hitting him on the shoulder.

And that kicks it off.

The air is filled with the sound of their shouts and laughter as they pummel each other with snowballs. Jack and Ryan devise a strategy where one of them ducks behind the mound of snow they have created with their shovelling to produce more snowballs whilst the other is on the attack. Yaz is left to attack on her own for a second whilst Jo scampers off through the snow somewhere, and when she returns, she is clutching the snowboard, and they use it as best they can as a defensive shield. Around the village, those who are afforded a view of the harbour watch their battle play out.

“Oi!” A familiar Scottish twang suddenly calls across the harbour, cutting through their play. They all freeze in place, Jo with snowball primed to throw directly at Jack, as Amy steps out from Pond’s Pastries, face creased in irritation. “How dare you start this without me!”

And that is when things _really_ begin to escalate.

All sense of there being teams is lost and it is each to their own as snowballs are fired off in all directions. Rory and Jo form an alliance on Jack, and despite their shoddy guidelines Jo does manage to mess up Jack’s hair. Yaz and Ryan get into their own little battle, each of them going after the other with childlike giddiness. Yaz can feels giggles building in the back of her throat, unable to supress them as she wades through snow, grabbing at it and forming roughly roundish shapes and flinging them haphazardly in Ryan’s direction.

“I’m getting you for that, Smith!” Amy cries into the air, and Yaz glances over whilst Ryan tries to regain his footing after falling into a mound of snow to see snow caught in Amy’s long locks, her face furious and Jo bent over with laughter as she points at Amy.

“You’re too easy, Pond.” Jo replies, but the moment she spots Amy bending down and ferociously gathering snow in her hands her eyes widen and she immediately starts gathering her own. She looks over to Yaz. “Yaz? Bit of help here?”

“Err, you’re on your own with that, babe.” Yaz calls back to her, watching with raised eyebrows as Amy keeps piling more and more snow. Even Ryan, who is now upright, and Jack have paused to watch the ginger face off the blonde.

“Rory?” Jo calls in her desperation, but even the other Pond cannot help Jo as Amy straightens, holding in two hands a humongous snowball.

“Sorry, Jo, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do now.” Rory says, wincing a little as Amy slowly descends on Jo, who, in panic, throws the small clump of snow Amy’s way. It barely grazes her, and Amy continues on, unperturbed. Jo hesitates, weighing up her options, for one moment more before she decides to make a run for it. Although, she _might_ have made a run for it had she not tripped up on her own foot and flumped down into the snow, and she has just turned and is telling Amy ‘no, no, no, no’ when the other woman dumps the large snowball on her head. 

* * *

“That wasn’t funny.”

“It were a bit funny.”

“I could have been injured, Yaz!” Jo protests, holding her sopping wet hat in her hands, the ends of her hair wet and lank as she sits sulkily on the edge of the harbour wall. Yaz fights to keep the smirk off her lips at the sight of her partner looking like an irritated child, and she tuts, taking Jo’s head in her hands and running her fingers through her hair, checking for any bumps or bruises just to appease her.

“I think you’ll live.” Yaz tells her, placing a quick kiss to the crown of her head before sitting down on the wall next to her.

“If not the head injury it’ll be the hypothermia that gets me.” Jo says moodily, glaring across the harbour at Amy who stands on the corner of the street. Yaz giggles, shaking her head affectionately.

She leans into Jo’s side, muttering into her ear. “I’ll warm you up later. In the bath.”

Jo coughs, shifting on the wall, and her cheeks go beetroot red. Yaz smirks. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Yaz perks up as she catches sight of what they have been waiting for. “Oh! Here they come!”

With shouts and cries of enjoyment filling the air Ryan and Jack come careening down the hill, as Jo and Yaz had done, Jack on an upturned bin lid and Ryan on an actual sledge, borrowed from Grace and Graham. The boys race each other to see who can get to the bottom faster, and Yaz tries her very best not to wince as they bash into each other, Jack sending Ryan off course so that the other man falls off his sledge and rolls around in the snow for a bit before coming to a stop, just shy of their hastily made finish line, marked with two crab pots. Jack slides to the finish with ease, somehow making riding an uncomfortable bin lid look good.

“Right! I’m next!” Jo says, her grumpiness forgotten as she makes to grab for their surfboard.

“You’re children, the lot of you.” A sullen voice says from their right, and both women turn to see Oscar appraising them all judgementally. He wears a neat wool coat, in black, fashioned with a deep purple scarf, one end flicked dramatically over his shoulder. His hair, as always, is slicked back impeccably.

Jo can barely supress her sigh. “Oscar.” She greets him.

“You do realise how dangerous this is?” Oscar points out to them, gesturing with a finger at Ryan and Jack, who are shaking hands as Jack commiserates Ryan for his loss. He looks back at Jo, at the surfboard by her side, and raises a disapproving eyebrow.

“You do realise what fun is, don’t you Oscar?” Jo remarks back, readjusting her stance so she faces Oscar head on. Yaz looks between them from where she is still seated. _Here we go…_

“Oh, I make my own fun.” Oscar says, his tone teasing, maliciously so and he looks at Jo with glee. Yes, Yaz knows exactly how he gets his fun: winding them all up, especially Jo.

“I’m surprised you need to wear a coat out here, Oscar, I would have thought someone as frigid as you would have enjoyed these temperatures.” Jo remarks, and Yaz bites the inside of her cheek as she watches Oscar’s face flush a little. Jo sure does know how to give it to him right back.

Oscar’s cheek twitches, and then a small smirk creeps onto his face. “Oh wait, what am I saying?” He asks sarcastically, and then he gestures at the hill. “Go on, Joanne, please, go flying down that hill and break a bone or two. I’ll be here at the bottom to laugh in your face.”

“I will if you will.” Jo remarks back with a raised eyebrow.

“You would do anyway.” Oscar retorts, that dangerous shark-like smile on his face.

“Ah, but now I’ve raised the stakes, there’s no way you’re not saying yes.” Jo says cockily. _Uh Oh,_ Yaz cannot help but think. She hopes Martha is around this morning, just in case of any injuries.

Oscar seethes for a moment, Jo has well and truly caught him out, before he spits, “Fine. Tell me one of you children has something I can borrow as a sledge?”

“How about an actual sledge? See I’m using a surfboard, because I’ve already got mad skills, but I think beginners like you might need the proper equipment. Ryan!” Jo turns and calls for Ryan as Oscar glares daggers at the back of her head. Yaz sighs, pulling herself to her feet. There will be no stopping them now.

“You sure about this?” She does have to ask ten minutes later at the top of the hill, for her own sake, the harbour stretched out before them, Ryan and Jack readjusting their finish line to make sure it is in the right place. Jack gives them a thumbs up, and Jo changes her stance, getting ready to push off on the surfboard. A few feet away from them, Oscar does the same sat upon Ryan’s sledge.

“Positive!” Jo replies, grabbing at the reins with one hand. “How hard is it going to be to beat him?”

Yaz sighs. “Just… be careful, will you?”

Jo looks up at her, face scrunched up. “When am I ever not careful?”

Yaz refrains from pointing out that she is barely ever careful every single day, and instead just pats Jo on the shoulder and steps back.

“On my whistle!” Amy calls from where she is leant against one of the cottages, a reluctant race starter. “Oh, wait, I don’t have a whistle- ugh, on my shout!”

“Oh, just get on with it.” Oscar mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, Oscar?” Jo says, to him, and he turns his head. Right at the moment Jo throws a snowball at his face.

“GO!” Amy shouts, and Jo is off down the hill with a whoopy cry of laughter. Oscar splutters, wiping the snow from his face, his hair, now messed up, dripping with icy sludge. He curses Jo, and immediately sets off afterwards, all thoughts of this being silly and childish forgotten as he races down the hill after.

“Children.” Amy says, sighing wearily, and Yaz can do nothing but nod her head in agreement. She just wishes they would talk out their problems in a healthier manner. 

* * *

“That was cheating! You’re a cheat!” Oscar is spitting as Jo as Amy and Yaz make their way back down to the harbour. The two racers had reached the bottom with fortunately no injuries, only to Oscar’s pride, and Jo the clear winner. The woman is currently brushing off the snow from her trousers as she brushes off Oscar’s accusations.

“It weren’t in the rules that sabotage couldn’t be used.” She replies suavely, not caring even as Oscar’s eyes get shaded with anger. It twinges at something in Yaz, something unpleasant. This is crossing a line, somehow, their usual duelling transforming into something else, their rapiers clashing, sparks flying from the metal. It had just been sledging, and that, Yaz thinks, might be the thing which is suddenly alerting her to the uncomfortable feeling she has always felt when Oscar and Jo get like they do, squabbling but not in a good-natured way; they might be playing at duelling but sometimes Yaz wonders if they actually want to do each other proper harm. She still is not quite sure what Oscar really thinks of Jo, whether he does love her or hate her, or perhaps loves to hate her, but it makes her uneasy that they go on duelling and risking cutting each other in the process.

“You want to see sabotage?” Oscar threatens Jo, fingers twitching, and with alarm Yaz steps forward. Jack gets there before she can, however, placing himself between Oscar and Jo with his arms raised in appeasement.

“Woah.” He says, looking cross. “Let’s not start any of that.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me starting it.” Oscar spits, glaring at Jo. Yaz wishes Jo might back off, then, realise that gloating will not be of any benefit, but then that would be too easy.

“Well, if you would challenge me.” She shrugs.

Oscar lips quirk up into a snarl, something caught between a smile and a curl of his lip. Yaz does not like it one bit, and she wishes they would all just walk away and calm down.

“Mate, it were just sledging!” Ryan protests, as confused as Yaz is by how tense things have gotten in the last few minutes. She wishes she could explain, but she has no idea of the nature of Jo and Oscar’s relationship.

“I’m not your _mate._ ” Oscar spits.

“Oi.” Amy says, stepping up to him. “You back off before I really find the motivation to throw all your bikes in the ocean, okay?”

Oscar’s lip curls once more as he considers Amy, a dangerous smile on his face before he relents, backing away. He looks to Jo, who raises her eyebrows at him. Something irritated flares within Yaz, and she shifts on her feet, feeling unsettled by the unfamiliar feeling directed towards her partner. 

* * *

“One day, Jo, you’re going to push him too far and he’s going to snap.” Yaz tells her partner as they amble back up towards their cottage, late afternoon beckoning. The snow has continued to fall throughout the day, and Yaz is starting to get a little worried about how she will get to work the next morning. Still, such concerns are for later, for now, she is focussed on something else, something she needs to discuss before their plans of cosying up in the bath.

Jo’s face scrunches up as she considers Yaz’s warning. “Nah. He likes being cross with me, that’s his thing.”

Yaz raises an eyebrow at that. “And you’re okay with that?”

Jo shrugs, cheeks flushed as they begin to climb the alleyway leading up to their street. The snow and ice is making it even more challenging for Jo’s already challenged balance.

Yaz feels irritated at that shrug, and she brings them to a stop at the top of the alley. “Jo, I don’t like it when you get like that with him.”

“Like what?” Jo asks.

“You wind him up!” Yaz says, and Jo’s face scrunches up with consternation.

“And he winds me up!”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to lower yourself to his level. When you’re all cocky like that… I don’t like it, like you feel you have to prove yourself to him.” Yaz says honestly. 

“I’m only watching my own back.” Jo says protectively.

“Are you? Because surely the better thing would be to be the higher person in this. He goes low, so you go high, and don’t wind him up.”

“Well then maybe he shouldn’t act like that in the first place!” Jo shrugs, throwing her hands in the air. The snow is falling thickly around them, and Yaz feels like they are insulated in this conversation, forced to remain until they all get it out in the open.

“You know what he’s like, it’s not good to encourage him!” Yaz tries to make her see.

“Oh, so you think I should change my behaviour and he should just continue as is?” Jo asks indignantly.

“No, I’m just saying don’t encourage that sort of behaviour in him when I know you’re better than that. It’s helping none of us, especially you, and especially him.”

Jo blinks, a little shocked, Yaz can see, by this conversation. She is, too, and yet it comes from somewhere right, somewhere that knows they need to talk about this. they had never really cleared it up after all the events in the summer, but Yaz cannot let the pot simmer and simmer until it eventually boils over. She wants to turn off the heat.

“Jo, what is it with him?” Yaz asks, a little gentler now. “Why does he make you react like that? I know you, babe, I know you don’t like to be like that, so… why does he bring it out in you?”

Jo’s eyes looked troubled. She bites the inside of her cheek, taking a moment, and Yaz thinks she might get an answer but then Jo just shrugs and says, “I don’t know.”

Yaz sighs, and tries to catch Jo’s eye but the other woman is already moving past her, steps uncharacteristically careful, quieter. Yaz hesitates on the spot for one moment before turning and following her towards their cottage. She is irritated with Oscar, the man seeming to loom over their wintery day like the clouds above, but she wonders whether it might have been a good thing to finally get things out in the open and let the snow fall. 

* * *

Yaz has just immersed herself in the warm delights of bubbly bath water when the bathroom door opens and Jo comes in, looking a little sheepish. She has not spoken much to Yaz since they got home, and Yaz could see her thinking hard, leaving her to it as she ran the bath. Jo will speak to her when she is ready, and when she feels able to discuss, to whatever extent, what is on her mind. Yaz for one is glad she had managed to speak her mind; communication is key, and she refuses to let the Oscar issue become something which blocks the line.

She shoots Jo a soft smile as the other woman closes the door behind her with her foot, setting down two cups of tea on the edge of the bath. She slips the robe she is wearing from her shoulders, hanging it on the door, and Yaz sees she is naked underneath, her lithe and pale body looking like a work of art. Desire shoots through Yaz, but she pushes it down for now.

Jo clambers into the bath on the opposite end to Yaz, so that they are facing each other, and Yaz makes a grab for their mugs before Jo knocks them over with her foot. One Jo is settled, the bubbles brushing against her sternum, Yaz hands her one of the mugs, and settles back, waiting.

Jo clutches her mug of tea in her hands, her eyes faraway as she finally begins to speak. “When I were a kid, I had lots of times when people would- when people were… _mean_ to me, and I had to hold my own. I had to fight back with the same level of attitude, with conviction, otherwise I would have been left in the dust behind them. Ask Amy, I were proper feisty when we first met at uni, didn’t know what to make of her being nice to me.”

Yaz heart clenches with sympathy, love mixing with sorrow. She nods in understanding, encouraging Jo to go on.

“I didn’t like it. _Hated_ it, but I had to. It were self-preservation. I hate it now, too. I hate that Oscar brings it out of me but it’s like I can’t _stop_ myself….” She looks at Yaz a little forlorn and shrugs. “It’s because I don’t understand him, Yaz. I don’t know what he wants from me, and it puts me on edge.”

“Oh, babe.” Yaz says, understanding seeping into her bones like the warm water they soak in. Some of the tension loosens from her shoulders.

“I’m sorry I’ve let you down. I’m sorry I acted like that. I understand why you don’t like because I don’t like it, either.” Jo says honestly, her hazel eyes wide and imploring as they look at Yaz, and Yaz looks back, the warmth in their eyes radiating from the both of them, rising to the surface like the steam of the bath. “I don’t think he’ll listen to me if I try and talk to him about it. I truly don’t understand whether he hates me or…”

“Loves you?” Yaz finishes for her, and Jo nods, looking uncomfortable. Yaz remembers the summer, their very first week meeting, how Jo had admitted she did not know whether the man loved her or hated her, that it was hard to tell with him. Oscar certainly is a puzzle, parts put together that do not quite make sense. In a way, it makes Yaz sad. If the man had not taken advantage of Jo when she was at her lowest, that dark week, a darkened alleyway outside club, she might feel sadder still.

“If he did love me, why would he treat me like he does?” Jo asks Yaz, perplexed. Her bony knees rise above the surface of the water, beads of water dripping from her skin. Some of her tea sloshes into the bathwater.

“I don’t know, but maybe at least trying to speak to him about it might be the best thing to do? Even if you get nowhere, at least you’ll have tried to understand. Got to be better than this battle of wills you two have going on, hey?”

Jo gives her a small smile, still looking uncertain but Yaz can tell that the both of them are more relaxed now, the air clearing. Blowing away the clouds is becoming easier for the both of them, and the contrast to that very first argument in summer is striking, and Yaz feels herself warmed inside as well as out by that thought. She sinks deeper into the bath, nudging Jo’s legs with her own.

“I’ll try.” Jo says to her, looking a little petulant about it over the rim of her mug. “Next time I see him.”

“Well let’s just hope he doesn’t pile snow in front of our door or do anything else stupid as ‘revenge’.” Yaz remarks sarcastically, but not unkindly, and she shoots Jo a wink. The other woman smirks back.

“What? Something which means he has to put in a lot of physical effort? Doubtful.”

Yaz smirks back, and the two of them fall into a comfortable silence for a moment, bar the dripping of the faucet. The room is bathed in the soft light above, and Yaz feels as if they are cocooned in their own igloo, with the snow falling outside. She looks at Jo, the other woman’s head tipped back and leaning against the rim of the bath, exposing the long line of her neck, her pale skin looking almost translucent. That wave of desire comes back with full force, and Yaz pushes all thoughts of Oscar _well_ out of her brain and puts her tea down on the floor by the bathtub, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“Enough about Oscar.” She says, leaning forwards in the bath and plucking Jo’s mug from her hands and placing it next to hers. Jo’s head tilts forward and she looks at Yaz questioningly as the other woman pulls herself up until she is leaning over Jo, hands on either side of the tub, clinging to the rim as she brushes her lips against the other woman’s. “You said earlier you needed warming up. Let me see if I can help with that.” 

* * *

“Well, I tried!” Jo announces herself as she comes striding into their cottage a few days later, tote bag swinging from her shoulder, scarf hanging unevenly around her neck. The navy beanie she wears on her head is askew, too, and Yaz peers out of the window to see it is snowing again. She has been stuck at her makeshift home office in their front room, unable to get into work and therefore doing the dull paperwork aspect of her job from home.

“What did you try, babe?” She asks absentmindedly as she sorts through her papers.

“Talking to him!” Jo replies, sounding flustered. She throws her tote bag onto the sofa with a soft _thump,_ toeing off her boots. “Oscar!”

“Oh.” Yaz says with a sigh, putting down her papers and turning her full attention to Jo.

“Tried very calmly to go up to him and explain.” Jo says as she throws off her hat, discarding that, too, to the sofa in her irritation. Yaz quirks an eyebrow. “But would he have any of it? No. Would not hear a single word I had to say, started to make comments about things that I- I- agh!”

As she has been talking, getting more and more riled, Jo has somehow managed to get herself entangled in her scarf in the process of removing it, so it tightens even further around her neck. Yaz fights to hide her small affectionate smile at the typical action for Jo and instead stands and heads over, helping her remove the scarf and hanging it neatly on one of the coat hooks. She turns to Jo with a sigh, taking the other woman’s hands in her own to try and calm her down. They had gotten frantic in their movement in her exasperation.

“At least you tried, babe.” Yaz reassures her. “If you did all you could, that’s fine. It’s Oscar, I doubt you would have sorted it all out immediately and smoothly anyway.”

Jo huffs, but her breathing is calming, her cheeks losing their red, angry tinge. Privately, Yaz is also seething on Jo’s behalf, hackles raising at the sight of her partner being so upset and raising even further knowing exactly who got her like this. Still, that is not for now. For now, Yaz can calm her down and give them both a relaxing evening as the chill outside holds the village hostage.

“Hey, I’m just about done with work for the day, how about we get changed and cuddle down in front of the fire?” She suggests, and Jo visibly relaxes, hiding her face in Yaz’s neck. Her nose is cold, but Yaz does not mind.

“Sounds perfect.” 

* * *

“Well, if it isn’t one half of the happy couple.” A snide voice remarks, and Yaz pauses in her work of shovelling snow outside of the coastguard station, straightening to greet Oscar with a frown.

“May I help you?” She asks. It is the day after Jo’s unsuccessful talk with Oscar, and Yaz is still irritated on her behalf every time she thinks of the situation. Oscar’s presence is bringing that irritation back full force. 

Oscar shrugs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his fine woollen coat. He regards her like one might regard something in a petri dish under a microscope. “Do you really enjoy this season, Yasmin? All this _cheer and merriment?”_

Yaz straightens, digging her shovel into the snow and wiping her hands together. “I do, as it goes.”

“And you feel it’s appropriate for you to celebrate it?” Oscar says and Yaz sighs.

“It’s not a religious thing. Not to us. It’s more a way for us to celebrate our life, and our love.” She explains.

“Yes.” Oscar says sarcastically. “With little _baubles._ ”

Yaz sighs and rolls her eyes. “They’re not the point. The point is it’s bringing us together and bringing happiness and all that.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake it’s a religious holiday blown way out of proportion by consumerism!” Oscars seethes, throwing his hands up into the air dramatically. “There’s no meaning in it it’s as hollow as most everything else! No love in it.”

“See, that frame of mind won’t get you anywhere. Who cares about anything but what it means to us? What we make of it? I understand not celebrating, but don’t trash it.” Yaz tells him sharply. “We all have our traditions, our celebrations. Just leave well enough alone, it’s not hurting you, is it?”

Oscar melodramatically puts his hand to his heart. “Oh, it _pains_ me ever so much.”

Something flares up in Yaz, then, an anger she normally has control over, can let her level-headed nature quell so that pragmatism takes over. But Oscar is like petrol to a flickering fire, setting it aflame with power and ferocity. “Is this about Jo? Do you even know why she gets so excited about Christmas?” Yaz bites her tongue just enough to not reveal too much to Oscar, but it is a close call. “She’s not had many people be kind to her in her life, and I’m not trying to pretend to understand whatever it is that goes on between you or in your head but if you could for once just stop being so tetchy with her, that would be nice!”

Oscar bites the inside of his cheek, looking at Yaz very closely, and Yaz can feel her pulse thumping in her neck, her lungs heaving in the icy cold air. “Do you like coming to her aid, Yasmin? Do you like being the do-gooder who wants to help everyone?”

Yaz knows what he is doing, he is trying to wind her up, like he winds Jo up. Yaz takes a deep breath, letting her anger simmer, taking that high road and not letting the pot boil over. “Jo can fight her own battles.”

“Then why are you talking to me about this now?” Oscar says with a quirked eyebrow.

Yaz sighs, readjusting her footing. That is a weak point, here, in her argument. She should not really be having this conversation, she should not have interfered, now when Jo has not asked her to, only- “Because I love her, very much, and seeing you upset her and make her act like she does with you makes me so cross because I know she is so much better than that.”

“I can’t be to blame for how she acts, Yasmin, not entirely.” Oscar replies, voice deeper, darker. “If you’re telling me to stop maybe you should tell her, too.”

“Well as someone who loves her, I did tell her how worried it made me, and she’s _tried_ to sort things out, but _you_ wouldn’t listen.” Yaz remarks, and she points at Oscar, near jabbing him in the chest. He looks down at her finger, both eyebrows rising.

“I don’t see the point in ‘fixing’ things, as you so philanthropically put it.” He says to her, taking a step towards her, but Yaz stands her ground, letting him get into her personal space without flinching or batting an eyelid. “Not when it’s a lose-lose situation for me. I cannot…” He trails off, biting his tongue, and Yaz’s eyes narrow at the sudden hesitation. Oscar sighs, and he glares at her with renewed energy, his lips moving into their usual smug smirk. “I enjoy it, Yasmin. Why on earth would I stop?”

Yaz’s lips curls, that anger bubbling up once more, near shaking the lid off the pot. She takes a step closer herself, so that their faces are only inches from each other. Oscar does not flinch, either, but instead his smirk grows. “Whatever you feel, that’s your problem. Not hers. Not mine. Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you about this but if it will make you realise just how much of a _dick_ you’re being then I will not stop until I make you understand. Sort your own problems out, yeah? And don’t take them out on her.”

And with that Yaz turns and strides towards the coastguard station, pushing the door open and letting it swing closed behind her. She stands in the hallway for a few moments just breathing, letting artificial warmth seep into her. It is cloying, oppressive, and Yaz feels herself begin to sweat. That might have been a mistake, involving herself like that. She should have left it for Jo to sort out or spoken to her before confronting Oscar like that. Still, there is nothing she can do about that now, and she cannot say she wholly regrets all she has said to the man, he had it coming. Yaz lets her breath leave her in a long low trail and straightens her shoulders. She will just have to explain to Jo, explain and apologise. And as for Oscar… well, he has done more harm than good already, and Yaz had kept her cool but it had been a close-run thing. She winces. She can understand it from Jo’s perspective, she really can, no matter how easy it is to say ‘rise above it’, the doing so is harder, and part of her regrets ever raising the issue with her partner in the first place. Still, it is the time of year for good will and all that, and Yaz knows it is better to address the Oscar issue now rather than let the gaping wound grow any larger, it is big enough as it is. Yaz just hopes they don’t come out of it any more bumped and bruised than they already are. 

* * *

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, babe.” Yaz tells Jo later that afternoon, stood across from her in their kitchen. Jo had just about to get out a pan for frying some fish when Yaz had decided it was better just to come out with the truth rather than wait, and she still holds the frying pan in her hand. “I know I shouldn’t have interfered.”

Jo sighs, gaze concentrated on the floor, dip in her brow as she frowns. Yaz lets her have a moment, cautious to say anything else, let Jo process. “Why did you do it?” She finally asks.

Yaz shrugs, hands balling into fists at her sides. “My defences were up, I suppose. Knowing he’s hurt you, knowing the situation.” Yaz bites her lip, feeling incredibly guilty now. She knew there would be repercussions, but having to face them here, stood in their kitchen, the soft glow of their decorations just beyond Jo’s shoulder in the main room “I know it wasn’t my place, I know as your partner I should support you whilst you fight your own battles, should have only interfered if you’d asked, but… in that moment he made me so angry, goose, I just reacted.”

Jo breathes out heavily from her nose, and Yaz sees her fingers tighten around the frying pan. “That’s a bit ironic.”

Yaz winces a little. It is, she knows it is. Oh dear, this is all turning into a terrible mistake. _Damn Oscar…_ But she cannot blame him wholly, just like she cannot blame him wholly for how Jo reacts with him. Yaz is an adult, and she still chose to rise to him, to interact with him, thinking it was enough to not blow her top and go spouting out all Jo’s secrets that she has shared with trust and time and work. There she had been, saying to Jo how she was concerned about the woman’s behaviour towards him, when she has done almost exactly the same. Yaz bites the inside of her cheek, fighting down nasty feelings which rise up in the face of failure. She can make mistakes. Mistakes are good, as a couple, to make, they make you stronger. Or so people say. Right now, the expression on Jo’s face makes her want to crumple.

“I get that. It is. And I regret it, I really do. I’m sorry.” Yaz says. Jo sighs again, her eyes trailing across the floor as if trying to find the words she needs written upon it. Unfortunately, the slate is blank. Literally.

“Did you- I just…” Jo is at a loss for words, it seems, her shoulders tensed. She will not look at Yaz, and Yaz knows that means she is very upset. Jo sighs again, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. “I need some time to think.”

Yaz nods, although there is a bitter taste in her mouth. “Of course.”

“I… yeah.” Jo says, voice ragged, spinning on the spot before she turns and heads through into the living room and towards the front door. She snags her coat from its peg, and opens the door, caught up in her thoughts as she heads out into the snow.

“Jo, you’ve still got the-” Yaz begins to call, but the door closes before she can finish. “-frying pan.”

She sighs, resting her forearms on the kitchen counter and placing her head atop them. Things will be fine, she knows they will, this is a blip, this is what they _need_ to help their relationship grow. It is hard to live through it in the moment, though, when all she wants is to cuddle into Jo’s side and curl up on the couch on a winter’s evening.

She straightens, looking around her at the quiet of their home. It is odd, she does not like it. She cannot stay here, not while she gives Jo the time she needs. Yaz pulls her phone from her pocket, sending off a quick text. She gets a reply a few minutes later as she is shoving her coat onto her shoulders, and she grabs her keys and shoots Jo a text explaining where she is going in case she is still gone by the time the other woman gets back home, and sets off out of the house. 

* * *

Jo does not register that she still has the frying pan clasped in her fist until she is quite a ways along the coastline, wet seeping into her boots from the melted snow as she has strode through it. Her teeth are chattering, she thinks, but she is so caught up in her own head that she barely notices the cold, her thoughts a flurry like the snow falling around her. She blinks, trying to look at her surroundings, but the sea stretched out in front of her is barely visible through the blizzard, the village a dusky looking mass of darker shades and glowing lights down below, and Jo sighs, coming to a stop before she goes too far.

This ‘Oscar issue’ has hit her hard and come out of the blue. Although like the blue which rises and falls in waves below her, out of sight below the surface she knew it was lurking. Knew it had to be addressed. At first Yaz brining it up had felt like their efforts to be good at communication, to make their relationship stronger, had backfired on her, that Yaz was accusing her of something, but in the time she had taken to thought Yaz’s immediate reaction had quelled and she understood Yaz was doing it _because_ they are brilliant as a couple, because Yaz had a problem and she addressed her concerns, and she had not been doing so to accuse Jo of anything, but to look out for her wellbeing as her partner. Jo is not stupid, she knows her relationship with Oscar is unhealthy and also rather immature, but as she had said to Yaz, it has been easier to slip into the current of old habits rather than swim against the tide.

She is glad she confided those thoughts with Yaz, those issues relating to her childhood. It had helped her quell the guilt that her actions had affected Yaz more than Jo had realised, and she had felt a little better, until she had tried to talk to Oscar…. Then, it was as if Jo had tumbled down a steep hill back towards her teenage years, scraps and spats and nothing beneficial to come from a conversation, opening up a wound over and over again, never letting it heal, a horrible scab forming over the surface, waiting to be picked off again by either Jo or Oscar’s angry fingers.

 _It is not going to be easy,_ she had told herself. _It is going to take time. You cannot fix things overnight._ Jo knows old habits die hard, _very_ hard, and changing thought patterns and habits ingrained from childhood experience will not happen with a snap of her fingers, and yet that did not mean that she has not been feeling very vulnerable about this the past few days, a little unsettled and uncertain. This has all dredged up issues which she cannot let settle back onto the ocean floor of her mind. She must dredge them up and recover them, analyse them and work through them, but it takes time, and Jo does not like how unsettled that now currently makes her feel.

And then Yaz had come home and told her she had spoken to Oscar about it and Jo had felt… well, she feels like the blizzard around her is in her mind as well as out, numbing her as she cannot process every thought at once. Jo lets out sigh, tipping her head back and letting snowflakes fall on her face, the icy cold a sensation a new, refreshing, and it clears her mind a bit so that she can sift through her thoughts and sort them properly.

Her initial thought had been to think Yaz was seeing her as too weak to deal with this on her own, and that thought had rubbed up against her feelings of unsettlement and made her feel vulnerable, pathetic. Old thoughts of being less than Yaz, of Yaz being better than her, had returned, knocking the wind out of her. And being so closely connected to something so troubling to her, something she is still working through with the help of therapy to finally deal with an unsettled childhood, it had blown way out of proportion, and Jo knew she had to get out of their cottage to deal with it before things escalated even more.

Those thoughts still remain, but with snow falling afresh on her face new perspectives come to Jo, and she realises that _of course_ Yaz does not see her as weak, of course she knows Jo can fight her own battles; she had just been supporting her, making her own mistake of intervening through the love she feels for Jo. It is touching, a drop of warm sunlight to Jo’s heart in this blizzard. It might not have been the best decision to make, but Jo knows Yaz was only acting with good intentions. She supposes that having someone in her corner over an issue linked to a lonely childhood when all she had was herself is a new feeling. A good feeling. Excellent, even. Just… Yaz should have kept away from Oscar. She made a mistake, Jo understands that, _of course_ she understands that. She feels like she is constantly making mistakes. She might have punished herself for that in the past, but now she knows it is natural, is what is making them stronger as people and as a couple. Icy air seems to flow into her lungs anew as a tension releases in Jo.

“Why the hell do you have a frying pan?” A voice suddenly asks, and Jo jumps, a scowl automatically coming to her face at the sight of the figure wading their way through snow towards her. Oscar.

“You never know when you might need to fry something.” She replies, looking down at the utensil in her hand. Her fingers are like icicles, she can barely feel it in her grip.

Oscar gives her a weary gaze and stops a few feet away from her, tucking his hands into his pockets. Snowflakes are beginning to fall onto his head, peppering his hair with white flakes, and Jo wonders why he does not have a hat on, he is so particular about his hair.

“What are you doing out here?” She asks.

“Can I not just enjoy walking?” He shrugs, immediately on the defensive and Jo sighs, quelling that urge to snap back, and instead turning towards rationality and calm. It is time to address this. Properly. It will be good, for all of them.

“Oscar… we need to talk.”

“Do we? I thought you had your girlfriend do that for you.” Oscar remarks with a raised eyebrow, but Jo does not take the bait.

“I didn’t ask Yaz to do that. In fact that’s why I’m out here, I’m upset at her.” She explains, tightening her numb grip on the frying pan.

“She really cares for you.” Oscar remarks, suddenly, honestly.

Jo feels hope climb its way up her throat and to her mouth, and before she can stop herself, she asks, “Do you?”

“What?”

“Care for me?”

Oscar scoffs, but his eyes dart away from hers a little _too_ quickly. “ _Please-_ ”

“Oscar.” Jo snaps his name, and his eyes meet hers, glinting dangerously, but they pause when he sees the exhaustion in her own, no defences, no pretences. “Please, for once, can we just talk to each other? Just… man to woman, person to person?”

Oscar drags his foot through the snow, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. “How are we meant to do that when you seem to think yourself above me all the time?”

Jo blinks, a frown marring her brow. “What? Do you really think that’s how I feel?”

Oscar shrugs, his gaze trained on the ground, the random pattern he is making in the snow with his foot. Or rather, his leg, as the snow comes up to his shins.

“I wouldn’t think I’m better than you.” Jo replies honestly. It is weird to speak to him like this, but it is a good kind of weird. A right kind of weird.

“Seems like you act that way.” Oscar retorts sullenly.

“How?” Jo asks, curious.

Oscar steps towards her, maintain eye contact which Jo holds with her own. If he is trying to be intimidating, it is not working. It never works, but now, Jo can see it for the distraction tactic it is. “Always wanting to help people, always kind. You like taking the moral high-ground, don’t you?”

Jo sighs. “That’s not why I’m kind to people. I’m kind to people because everyone deserves kindness, everyone should be treated with respect.” She hesitates for a second before she adds, “I didn’t get much kindness in my childhood, and I never want to give that feeling to someone else, that feeling of worthlessness, of being lesser. Not worthy.”

She sees something falter in Oscar’s eyes, doubt, surprise, flickering in caramel pupils.

Jo blinks. “Is that really how you feel with me?”

Oscar stares at her for a long moment, a storm in his eyes as the snowstorm around them continues. “I figured if I could bring you down to my level, let that anger I know you have deep inside you crawl out, then you might finally be my equal.”

Jo reels back a bit at that, unable to keep her shock off of her face. “That’s… Oscar, that’s not fair.”

“This whole thing isn’t fair.” 

Jo sighs, frustration welling like a pool in her chest. She cannot let it expand into an ocean, she needs to keep control here or else it will have been for nothing. “Look, it might not be fair, but that’s not my problem. Me and Yaz, we’re working on a healthy relationship, one where we’re not too dependant on each other and spoil the love that has brought us together. It’s hard to do that, that’s why I’m out here now, that’s why I-” She bites the inside of her cheek. She had been about to speak into words something she is still coming to terms with, a summer that almost ended in tragedy, an act she had almost committed from the poisonous feelings inside of herself, manifesting themselves in a certain way. Now is not the time. Oscar already knows too much than she would have liked initially, finding out her secrets through eavesdropping and gossip amongst some of the more loose-lipped villagers. “That anger you want to bring out in me? That comes from that place that needs listening to and healing. It’s not fair of you to want to play with it to fix your own problems. It’s not fair on me, _and_ on you, because it’s not going to get you anywhere. It’s not going to help you.”

Oscar stares at her, eyes boring into her, but Jo keeps going, needing to say something she has suspected has been the problem this whole time, has fuelled every single interaction between the two of them. “Oscar, I cannot give you what you want. I don’t think I should, either, because if this is what you want, or, if this is what you do with what you feel, make it into something vitriolic and _dangerous…_ then that’s no good for anyone. That could never be good.”

Oscar’s lip curls on instinct, but Jo can see in his eyes she has flayed him open, exposed his inner thoughts. All this peacocking, this faux superiority, this haughty nature, challenging her to duels of wit, it is all to make his insecurities vanish, to make him feel as if he is just as good as her, believing himself to be lesser, and Jo cannot help but find this all incredible ironic. It is messy, too, but she is trying to make it right. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”

“I’m not trying to!” Jo replies, frustration seeping into her tone. She sighs, drawing it back in. All she can do is say what she needs to and do her best. That is all, she cannot change Oscar’s mind for him. “And I’m not saying any of this because I think I’m better than you, but because I can’t let you do this anymore. Not to me, and not to yourself. We need to stop, Oscar.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re the one to decide that?” He remarks.

“No, what I’m saying here is that if we come to an agreement,” Jo says, gesturing between the two of them. “If we come to _understand_ each other a bit better, then maybe things don’t have to be as nasty as they have been.”

She can see Oscar considering her suggestion, and Jo shivers as she waits in the biting cold for his response.

“Do you know what it’s like Jo? To live with this _thing_ inside me all day every day? To feel so overwhelmed at it by times it turns everything else I think and feel towards its influence? It’s _infuriating.”_

“I do.” Jo replies, before she can even think about what she is saying. “Or at least, I had my own version of whatever it is you’re feeling. Feels like that’s all there’s ever going to be, all that is ever going to define you, doesn’t it?”

Oscar sniffs, and his lip curls but not in disgust, not at her, but in himself, and Jo takes a deep breath, thinking that they might be getting somewhere.

“But do you know what?” Jo asks him, and Oscar rolls his eyes.

“Oh, spare me your sanctimonious speech.”

“No, this isn’t sanctimonious!” Jo snaps back, taking a step towards him. “This is some advice, some _comfort,_ from person to person, equal to equal, that it is not all that defines you. That there is more than that feeling inside. You’ve just got to find the courage to break the pattern, accept you can change it and help yourself.”

Oscar looks rather speechless, something Jo thought she would never see. Her heart is thumping heavily in her chest, the adrenaline running through her body a temporary reprieve from the freezing cold weather as it warms her from the inside out. She swallows, shifting back on her heels, feeling shivers begin to wrack her body once again.

“Well, it’s worked for me anyway.” She says, shrugging, suddenly tired, knowing there is not much more for her to say, knowing there is not much else she can do; she has made her case, it is up to Oscar whether he swallows it like a bitter pill or a Michelin star meal. “Helped me feel like I wasn’t drowning every single day. Yaz has helped with that, too. Helped me see I’m not innately a failure, but that we all make mistakes, all make failures but that’s completely fine.”

Oscar is evaluating her, his breath blowing out into billowing clouds.

“You see?” Jo asks him. “I don’t want to fight with you, Oscar. It’s not good. It’s not good for any of us at all.”

“Did you really think you were innately a failure?” He asks, and there is something different in his tone, softer.

Jo nods, and curses the tears she feels pricking in the corners of her eyes. “Yeah. I did.” She sniffs, turning her gaze skyward, letting the snowflakes cover her tears. “Anyway. I’m going to stop talking now. Can’t stop sometimes, me. Could talk for Britain. Actually, once I almost did when I got- do you know what, doesn’t matter. I’ll let you soak my words in and… ponder.”

With her gaze to sky, Jo does not see the small smile bordering on fond crossing Oscar’s face.

It is a few minutes later, and with Jo seriously wondering whether she might be frozen to the spot, when Oscar finally speaks. “Fine. A truce, then. No more arguing.”

Jo looks to him, smile on her face, relief dropping the tension from her shoulders. “No more arguing.”

Oscar nods, and he catches her eye then and she his. Jo sees something she never thought she might see there: affection tinged with no anger, expressed through no irritation, just pure affection. Her stomach twists, and in that moment, she feels sorry for him. She best not tell him that, though. Arguing they may have promised no longer to do but whether things between them will always run amicable is another question; there is rather a lot they do not agree on.

“Sometimes I don’t know what to do with how I feel for you, and it scares me.” He admits, wetting his lower lip with his tongue, uncharacteristically nervous. He is not used to talking about how he is feeling, she feels, keeping it clammed up, covering it with his usual scathing manner.

“I understand but fighting definitely isn’t the right thing to do.” Jo says.

“No.” Oscars says, and he looks away from her, looking petulant as he says. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with you.”

Jo laughs, and Oscar glances her way, a small smile appearing on his lips and then a laugh of his own, and Jo had never thought this would happen, but now that it is, she finds she likes it, finds for the first time she is enjoying speaking to Oscar, in a good manner, that is, not an unhealthy one. It is almost as if they could be… friends.

“I’m glad.” She says honestly, and means it.

Oscar sniffs, clearing his throat as he looks around them at the blizzard still encasing them. Behind him the Christmas lights in the village are twinkling delicately. They are not far-off sunset, and the cloying blanket of snow wrapped around their small village is already making things darker. They should get a shift on. His gaze returns to Jo, appraising her anew with something like concern. “You look freezing.”

Jo considers this, considers the way her boots and socks are soaking wet, her jeans clinging to her legs. She has no gloves, either, and her hands have long gone numb. She can barely feel the frying pan in her grip. She scrunches her nose up. “I think I might actually have frozen a little. Temporarily an ice statue.”

Oscar quirks an eyebrow at that. “You should return to your partner.”

“Yes! Yaz!” Jo says, with stiff fingers fumbling for her phone in her pocket. She has no clue how long it has been since she set off from the cottage, and she hopes her partner is not worrying about her. She reads the text which is displayed on her phone, marked as sent an hour ago. “Oh, she’s at Amy and Rory’s.”

Oscar cheek twitches. After a pause he says, “Well, I have to go that way anyway. I could walk with you?”

“You mean you’re not going to leave me out here to slowly become some kind of ice statue?” Jo asks, jokingly, and this time, she can see Oscar knows it is a joke, and those eyes like caramel are softened a little. She stuffs her phone back in her pocket, forcing her legs to move, the limbs feeling like two blocks of ice. Oscar joins her at her side, hands curled up in his own pockets to protect against the wind.

“It’s tempting.” He comments. “But I don’t think you’d last as an ice statue. I think your kind heart would melt it all away.”

“Naww.” Jo replies, but she does feel genuinely touched by his comment, that new added layer, underneath the hard exterior, soft and molten which runs underneath exposed and understood by her. It is a start, it is progress. They’ve a long way to go, but for the first time Jo does not associate this man with something darker and dangerous in her brain, lurking and cavorting with memories she would rather forget, but instead with this new hope and this new life she is making for herself.

Perhaps this is a festive miracle. 

* * *

“It doesn’t surprise me, Yaz.” Amy says as she sips at her tea, sat across from Yaz at one of the tables in the corner of the empty café, closing time come and gone. “She’ll need space and time to think about it, I’m sure her head must be a bit frazzled by it all.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Yaz says with a sigh, cupping her mug in her hands and soaking up its warmth. “I’m happy to give it to her, obviously, I just feel bad I caused it in the first place.”

Amy shrugs. “We all make mistakes. You didn’t do it with anything but good intentions. I don’t blame you. The amount of times I’ve come near to punching him in the face, I think you handled it pretty well.”

“Only kept my cool so I didn’t see the smug look on his face if I didn’t.” Yaz remarks and Amy sniggers at that.

They sip their tea in silence for a moment, watching the blizzard outside. Yaz checks her phone for messages, hoping Jo might have let her know if she was back home by now but there is no messages; she does not like the idea of her out in this snowstorm, which seems to be coming on thicker and faster as sunset approaches.

“If she says it’s linked to her childhood, I’m even more _un_ surprised she needs some space.” Amy says, gaze fixed on the falling snow outside. “I remember the first time I properly stuck up for her in uni. We were hall mates, in the same block with a few others and they did not take a liking to her, because she was, well….”

“Eccentric?” Yaz fills in for her, and they share a small smile at the affectionate descriptor they have for Jo.

“Yeah, let’s go with that.” Amy says. Their reflections are shadows and silhouettes against the glass, and Amy’s eyes catch her own in her reflection, as she reflects on her own past. “Anyway, I stood up for her in front of them once and she took it the wrong way, thought I was doing it out of pity. Took me a while to make her realise I wanted to be her friend because I liked her, not because I pitied her. It’s still a sore spot for her, that feeling. Blaming herself for River’s death didn’t help.”

Yaz nods, relief and sorrow twisting inside her in a strange dance. Relief that Amy understands, that Yaz has not royally messed things up, but also sorrow for her partner. She longs to hold her and tell her she is the strongest person she knows. “She’s working on it, though. Really hard.”

Amy nods, and gives her a small smile. “It will work out. There’s always bumps in the road at some time or another.”

The bell at the door chimes, and Yaz and Amy both turn to see Oscar entering, dark hair dusted with snow, flakes clinging to the shoulders of his dark woollen coat. He scowls at them, but he turns and holds the door open for someone else. “I’m returning your _significant other_ to you, Yasmin, before she freezes herself to death.”

“Oh my god, Jo!” Yaz exclaims as Jo enters the café on stiff legs, teeth chattering. It appears as if she is trying to camouflage herself amongst the snow with how pale she is, and Yaz’s eyebrows raise to see she still holds the frying pan in her numb fingers.

“I’m getting you a blanket.” Amy says, sighing at her best friend’s appearance as she rises from her chair and disappears off up the stairs into her flat. Yaz rises from her chair, too, and approaches Jo, gently taking her arm as well as uncurling her fingers from the frying pan handle. She places it on one of the nearby tables, ushering Jo to the one they had been sat at, in the corner by the radiator, and sitting down next to her.

“Where have you been, goose?” She asks, concerned at the sight of her partner. Without a hat, Jo’s hair is starting to become damper as the snow melts in the warmth of the café.

“Needed to walk on my own. To think.” Jo replies through the chattering of her teeth. Amy returns, and drapes a thick woollen blanket around her shoulders, and Jo clings to it with her stiff fingers. Yaz moves her hand to Jo’s blanket-covered arm and begins rubbing it to try and help warm her up.

“This calls for a fresh pot of tea.” Amy announces, collecting her and Yaz’s old mugs. She glances towards Oscar, where he still stands by the door, looking uncomfortable but not leaving which Yaz finds surprising. In fact, it is surprising he and Jo had turned up at the café _together._ Oscar throws a wary look back at Amy, who raises an eyebrow. “For four instead of three?”

Even more surprising at that point is that Oscar looks to Jo and Jo looks to Oscar, and Yaz watches a silent conversation play out between them. Jo looks almost hopeful that he might stay, but when his eyes avert from hers and he clears his throat she looks down at the table, seemingly accepting. What has happened between the two of them in the past hour?

“No, I need to be getting home.” Oscar says, and his usual cadence seems more forced than it might normally be. “I have much better things to be doing than spending time with all of _you.”_

“Oscar!” Jo calls as he turns to leave, and he swings back to look at her. “Dinner. Here. Christmas Eve. I’m inviting you.”

Amy’s eyebrows raise to the heavens and Yaz looks to her, catching her eye, her own surprise evident, as Oscar ponders Jo’s request, looking a little unsure, a little squirmy. He looks towards Amy and Yaz, as if a little disgusted.

Jo shrugs. “It’s just a dinner. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Oscar mouth twitches and he says, “I’ll think about it.” Before he turns and leaves the café.

With the bell chiming Oscar’s departure, Yaz turns to Jo. “What was that about?”

“Bumped into him on my walk.” Jo explains, voice a little strained, as if she is starting to get a cold. Yaz would not be surprised, going by the state of her. Worry thrums like a low voltage of sound in the back of her mind. “We had a chat about things. He’s going to stop being such a dick, and I’m going to stop being one back.”

Relief flows like a hot spring through Yaz, and she hopes those waters warm Jo, too. She squeezes her arm. “I’m really glad, babe.”

“Well, thank god for that.” Amy says sarcastically. “But why the hell did you invite him to our dinner?”

Amy and Rory have organised a large feast on Christmas Eve for all the members of their small family, and Yaz knows Jo is extremely excited. She herself is very much looking forward to it, too.

Jo shrugs. “Trying to show him he’s part of this community, too, could be part of the fam if he makes the effort to be nicer and we make the effort to acknowledge that. I think he’s secretly tired of being alone.”

Amy hums, seeming unsure and a little irritated, but she accepts it. “On your head be it.” She heads towards the kitchen. “I’ll get that tea.”

With Amy gone, Yaz and Jo are alone again for the first time since their conversation in the kitchen. Yaz continues to run her hand up and down Jo’s arm, and the other woman’s eyes latch onto that movement for a moment before they rise and meet Yaz’s own. Yaz sends her a small smile, and Jo sighs, her own lips twitching up. Jo might be frosty, literally, and shivering right down to her toes but the warmth in her eyes is familiar and Yaz feels as if she is melting with the relief.

“Do you forgive me?” Yaz asks quietly.

Jo sighs, and she shifts in her chair so that she is facing Yaz, taking both of her hands in her own. She looks down at them, playing with Yaz’s fingers with her thumbs for a moment as she summons her words. “Of course. Of course, I forgive you. I thought at first you were doing it because you didn’t think I could, because you thought I was too weak.”

Yaz sucks in a breath. “I would never think that babe.”

Jo shoots her a warm smile as her body is wracked with shivers of cold. “I know. I know but I couldn’t help but think it at first. But now… now I know it was because you love me, and you were upset on my behalf, and that….” She sighs, and then is wracked by a shiver which is so big it shifts the chair. Yaz leans forward and readjusts the blanket, tucking it around under Jo’s chin, keeping her hands there afterwards. Jo tucks her chin, brushing the side of her face against the back of Yaz’s hand. “…That makes me feel amazin’, Yaz.”

“I love you so much, that was the only reason I did what I did.” Yaz says, confirming to Jo and speaking what she herself feels she needs to say. “I’m not excusing it, I shouldn’t have spoken to him, and I want you to know that, babe. I made a mistake.”

“I forgive you, Yaz.” Jo repeats again and presses a soft kiss to the side of Yaz’s hand. It sends a shiver of a whole other sort to the ones attacking Jo through Yaz’s body. “Just check with me next time?”

Yaz nods, and this time she leans forwards so that Jo’s lips brush against hers. “’Course.”

The kiss is soft, lingering, forgiveness and relief wrapped up like a small gift within it. They are better off for this, Yaz knows, for having faced this particular issue and made mistakes and therefore learnt from it, but she is glad that she has Jo back with her, hers to kiss and to love and to cherish.

Jo abruptly breaks away from Yaz, then, and sneezes loudly. Yaz winces in sympathy. So much for a nice romantic moment.

Jo sneezes again, and again, and as Amy returns to the room with a tray of freshly made tea she tuts disapprovingly. Jo groans and is wracked by another shiver. Yaz sighs. Oh dear.

“I think we should get home after we’ve had tea.” She says to her partner, shuffling her seat closer so that their shoulders are brushing, and she can transfer some of her warmth to Jo. She accepts her tea from Amy with a small ‘thanks’.

“Good idea.” Jo agrees, sneezing again as she accepts a mug from Amy, sloshing the liquid over her hand as the sneeze jolts her whole body. Amy rolls her eyes. “And maybe a bath, too?”

There is a hint of a suggestion in her tone, and Yaz smirks, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you mean and you and me bath?”

Amy groans, slumping down in the chair across the table from them. “Oh, spare me, I’m right here.”

Jo smiles at her, looking a little peaky, but trying her best to look mischievous. “There’s no point in having a bath if you’re not there with me.”

She sneezes immediately after speaking, sloshing tea again, which rather ruins the smoothness of her line and Yaz sighs, shaking her head affectionately. “Not sure you’re going to be up for anything tonight, babe.”

Jo sighs, sniffing. “Maybe you’re right.”

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.” Yaz says, running a hand up and down her partner’s arm, feeling the tremors of her body under her hand. A cold is definitely on its way.

Jo’s next words are light, a joke instead of a jibe, prodding not with the sharp end of a rapier, but with the dulled end of a wooden play sword. “I blame Oscar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I kept what and why Oscar feels what he does a little ambiguous, honestly because when I first started writing RT I didn't think out in much detail his backstory, he functioned mainly as an antagonist, but I do love Sacha Dhawan's Master a lot so I'm happy I could focus more on him here, and also because his relationship to the Doctor in canon is so intricate and elusive that it felt right to kind of keep it that way almost. But anyway, hope you enjoyed!   
> I'm going to be posting an extra smaller one shot over the weekend which compliments this one nicely- I've actually had it written for months but with Jo getting sick here (it's a sickfic) it fits really nicely so look out for that!
> 
> Thanks for much for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	5. Winter Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo catches a winter flu, and a good patient she does not make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd had this one written for ages but then I looked at it and overthought everything and completely re-wrote it. I also realise that posting a work where a character is sick in the middle of a pandemic could perhaps come off an insensitive. That is not at all my intention, Jo does not have covid this is a universe without that, but if it seems that way to you then i am sorry and please don't read if you think it'll upset you. Also i feel i should mention Jo takes too much cough medicine in this, and that if you were to do this irl, from what i can find online, you might suffer worse consequences than Jo does, so I'm not your mum but just know this is fictional!

Yaz has not heard the wind blow as it does on this day, almost toppling her over as she hurries towards her front door, careful not to trip on the cobbles beneath her feet. It is as if the ghosts of those seamen who died just off the coast of the cove are calling out to her, and the thought hurries her along even quicker. It is not that she is superstitious or would even be scared of ghosts should they exist, rather it is that if the wind is conjuring such images, it must in its nature, literally, be rather dangerous.

Yaz’s tote bag of goods near flies off her shoulder as she runs and practically hits the front door, glad that locking the door really is not a necessity in a village like theirs, not in the winter months, anyway, when there are so few visitors, as she can easily turn the handle and find refuge within the warm interior of their cottage. She fights against the wind and closes the door behind her, this time engaging the lock, now they are settling in for the rest of the day, and finally finding herself in the calm.

Ears ringing slightly from the harsh contrast from the wind outside, which rattles the windows in their panes, and the peace of inside the cottage, Yaz toes off her shoes to leave them by the front door and heads through the front room and into the kitchen, placing her bag down on the kitchen table and shrugging her coat off to hang it over the back of a chair. Then she heads upstairs to check on her partner.

Since her talk with Oscar in the middle of a snowstorm, because apparently that was the best time and place, Jo has been struck down with a particularly vicious strain of sickness which Yaz fears has turned into the flu. With the snow which still continues to fall, Yaz has not been able to get into work and has therefore been working from home; coastguard duty, too, has been very quiet in this heavy-set winter weather. This means it has been easier for her to keep an eye on her partner. If only that were a simple job. Jo is not the easiest patient when sick.

Yaz slows her footsteps and treads lightly once she has surmounted the stairs and walks the small distance across the landing to their bedroom. If Jo is asleep, she does not want to disturb her.

“Jo.” She says quietly, peering around the doorframe. “I got you your sou- what on _earth_ are you doing?” 

Yaz raises her eyebrows at the sight before her. Jo is crouched on the floor by the dresser, draw open in front of her, furiously rifling through it. Items of clothing are strewn over the floor and the bed and as Yaz watches she throws a jumper over her shoulder, muttering under her breath for whatever it is she is looking for. When she hears Yaz, she turns to peer up at her with a smile. Her face is shockingly pale and her hair a bedraggled mess, her eyes glassy and a little dazed. “Oh, hi Yaz!”

“Jo?” Yaz says with alarm, steeping into the room, dodging a flying jumper as Jo continues her search. “You should be resting. What are you doing?”

“Jumper. Can’t find it.” Jo says, voice deeper than usual, her airways congested. She sniffs. “The blue one. You know, the blue that’s like the colour of Bill’s cottage’s front door?”

 _Very specific,_ Yaz thinks, but she simply points and says, “Jo, you’ve got it on.”

“Oh.” Jo looks down at herself to see that, yes, she is wearing that jumper. Yaz lets out a sigh, concern lapping at the edges of her mind as she steps forward and bends down next to the other woman.

“Are you feeling okay? The fever hasn’t gotten worse has it?” Yaz asks, placing a hand on her forehead. Slightly warmer than usual, but with the frantic energy and the glassy texture to Jo’s eyes, Yaz had been wondering that the low-level fever Jo has been running has upped the ante, but no, she seems no worse than she had been so why…

Ah.

Yaz spots the empty bottle of cough medicine on the bedside table, next to the discarded tissues and Jo’s glasses. She had seen that medicine bottle earlier when she had fetched it for Jo from the bathroom cupboard before heading out, and it had been about half full, maybe less, which means Jo has downed the remaining liquid since Yaz has been to the shops. Right. No wonder she is a little… loopy.

She sighs, a little cross as she turns back to Jo. “Jo, you realise you’ve drunken the whole bottle of cough medicine? You’re supposed to take _ten millilitres._ ”

Jo frowns her, and then looks behind her to the bottle, squinting. She can probably not see much at all past having no glasses on and the medicinal haze currently swirling around in her brain. Her nose scrunches up and she turns back to Yaz with a goofy smile on her face, coughing weakly. “Did I? Oh. Woops.”

Yaz sighs again, getting to her feet and grabbing the bottle, checking the instructions on the label anxiously. She hums, discontented, but relieved when it reports Jo will not suffer severe side effects, but she elects to text Martha just in case, too. Replacing the bottle she returns to Jo’s side, hooking her hand under her partner’s arm. “Come on. You’re going back to bed.”

She leads a stumbling Jo back to the bed, depositing her on the mattress. Jo flumps down onto it with a sigh, eyes closing. Yaz lifts her legs onto the bed and pulls the duvet back over her, leaning down to press a kiss to Jo’s forehead. “Just rest. I’ll get you some soup. And make sure you’re not going to do yourself a mischief by drinking all of that.”

She heads back downstairs and gets to work on making the soup, emptying the can into a saucepan and heating it on the hob. As it cooks, she pulls out her phone and shoots off a quick text to Martha, hoping the other woman is not on shift. If so, luckily Yaz has a backup in Grace, but she does not want to go to the older woman straight off the bat as she does not want her to worry too much; Jo is practically her granddaughter, and Yaz can only imagine her face when she tells her the woman Jo has effectively drugged herself with cough medicine.

Yaz jumps when from up above the sudden sound of things being moved and something being dropped rumble across the ceiling like thunder. Yaz frowns before she hastily switches the gas off again and heads upstairs.

“Jo, you- _Jo.”_ Yaz sighs, eyebrows raising as she takes in the sight in front of her.

Jo’s backside is up in the air as she bends over the side of the bed, rummaging around under it for… something. The boxes they keep under the bed have been shoved to the sides, poking out from under the frame, joining the jumpers in the dresser in the aftermath of Jo’s sickness and medicine fuelled… well, what _is_ she doing?

Yaz huffs. This is worse than wrangling a toddler. “Jo.” She strides over to the other woman, Jo snaking with impressive flexibility so her torso rests against the side of the bed, head peering under it, arms splayed around, searching, and hooks her hand under her arm, wrangling her upright. With a scramble of limbs, Jo looks up at her, hair falling in front of her face, breathless. “What…?”

“Yaz, have you seen my notebook?” Jo asks her, running a hand through her hair as she raises herself up onto her knees on the middle of the bed.

“Which one?” Yaz asks. “You’ve got loads.”

“The one with the picture of the… thing on it.” Jo says, hand gesticulating by the side of her head as she tries to remember what she is trying to say. Her eyes widen as it comes to her, finger sticking straight up in the air. “The custard cream! And it’s got a little face!”

“Err, not sure, but _why_ are you looking for it?” Yaz asks, frustration meeting worry. She just wants Jo to rest, but the other woman seems to be doing her best to avoid that.

“Need to write down an idea.” Jo explains, searching through the sheets. She coughs. “For the thing me and Amy are thinking of.”

Yaz blinks. “What, right now? You sure it can’t wait, babe?” Jo and Amy are working on the preliminary ideas of a potential book, and whilst Yaz is very excited for the both of them, with Jo so addled with flu she does not think _now_ is the best time to be thinking about it.

“No, Yaz! It’s in here, and it needs to be in the notebook!” Jo says with vehemency, pointing to the side of her head. She wavers a bit on the spot, a hand reaching out to support her on the bed.

Yaz sighs again, looking around the room for the notebook just to appease Jo. She spots it, then, tucked just under one of the cushions on their window seat and she pads over, picking it up and grabbing a pen from Jo’s bedside table; the other woman has the habit of sometimes shooting awake in the middle of the night and scribbling something in the notebook, so a pen rests there just in case of such a moment.

“Right, get that thought out of your brain and then rest, _please.”_ Yaz tells Jo as she hands her the notebook. Jo takes it excitedly and flips it open to a random page. Yaz winces. She likes her things organised. Jo’s things followed more a sort of… organised chaos.

Jo visibly relaxes once she has written out the idea, and Yaz takes the notebook and pen from her hand before anything else strikes, placing it back on the bedside table. She encourages Jo to lie down again, detangling her legs from the duvet and drawing it back up over her body. “Right. Now, sleep. And that’s an order.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Jo mumbles, face smashed into the pillow. Yaz smirks, the tension releasing. She pats Jo’s shoulder and leaves the room.

Deciding to hold off on the soup for now, Yaz leaves it on the hob and heads to the small desk she has set up in the front room, against the wall by the stairs. Her laptop is open, and she presses the mousepad to wake it up, sliding her phone from her pocket to check for messages as she does. One from Martha comes up on the screen, sent a few minutes ago.

_She should be fine, just get her to drink lots of water._ _😊_

Breathing a sigh of relief, Yaz texts back her thanks and puts her phone down on the desk. However, at that moment it buzzes again, and Yaz looks to see another text, this time from Donna.

_Could you have the Charleston report to me by this evening? Sorry for late notice._

Yaz lets out a long, wavering sigh. The report, yes. She has fallen behind with Jo being sick, and whilst it is not her partner’s fault, with both that and the pile of work facing Yaz, her stress levels have raised enough for some irrational irritation to worm its way in, make her impatient, especially with Jo being such a tricky patient. Yaz is caring, Yaz loves Jo more than anything else, but Yaz also has to focus on herself, and right now, demonstrating both to herself and to Donna that she is doing a good job at her work is incredibly important.

 _No problem,_ she texts back to Donna.

Her laptop sits ready and waiting, and Yaz brings up the documents she needs, forcing herself to focus.

She does so for about twenty minutes before she is startled by the sound of feet on the stairs, and she gets up to investigate.

“Joanne! What are you doing?” She exclaims. Jo is stumbling down the stairs, one hand on the banister and the other on the wall. She is shaking slightly from the effort, face shockingly pale.

“Bored of the bed.” Jo explains. “Bed is boring.”

Yaz sighs. “Come on, then, sofa it is.” Yaz takes a hold of Jo’s arm and the woman practically stumbles into her as she finally makes it down the stairs. At least she can keep a closer eye on her downstairs.

“The room’s spinnin’.” Jo mumbles as she navigates the small walk from the stairs to their sofa like a newborn foal on ice.

“That’s not the room, babe, that’s your head.” Yaz explains. Whatever is confusing Jo’s head, be it sickness or medicine, probably a mixture of both, has really sent her for a loop.

“Well, why s’it doing that?” Jo asks her as Yaz finally deposits her down onto the sofa. She hits the fabric with a soft _thump._ “S’really rude if you ask me.”

Yaz smirks as she encourages Jo to lay down on the sofa, grabbing the blanket which rests over the back and shaking it out to lay over her. Jo lets out a long sigh, visibly relieved to be lying down. She looks weary and pale, and sympathy runs like a river through Yaz’s veins and so she plays along. “I’ll have a word with it.” She tells Jo, placing her hand on Jo’s head and running her fingers lightly through her hair. She speaks to Jo’s crown when she says, “Stop spinning, yes?”

Jo scoffs even as she preens into Yaz’s touch. “That s’bit weird, Yaz. My brain can’t hear you.”

Yaz’s eyebrows raise at that and amusement tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, I’m the one who’s being a bit weird?”

“Hey, s’not fair.” Jo says, sounding like a five-year-old and pouting like one, too. “M’sick.”

“And the rest of the time?” Yaz cannot help but ask, and Jo looks practically affronted, glaring weakly up at Yaz with glassy eyes. Her irritated demeanour is interrupted when she coughs, groaning afterwards. Yaz straightens and, remembering Martha’s directive, says, “I’ll get you some water.”

Yaz switches the hob back on as she fetches Jo some water, figuring some soup might go down nicely with it, getting something more into her system other than cough medicine. She spares a thought for her work waiting at the desk as she passes it by with Jo’s glass of water; it will wait a few moments more.

She crouches down by Jo’s side and hands her the glass of water, supporting it lightly when Jo nearly slops it all over herself. Once she is done, Yaz places it on the coffee table and heads back into the kitchen. The soup is spluttering in the saucepan and she hastily turns the gas off, pouring it into a bowl and placing it on a tray with a spoon, and pads back into the living room.

“Please try not to spill.” She tells Jo, who rouses and with some difficulty pushes herself more upright on the sofa, taking the tray from Yaz with shaky hands. She very nearly does what Yaz asked her not to do but fortunately she gets it settled on her lap before any soup ends up on her or the sofa. “I really don’t want to have to send the sofa off for dry cleaning when we can’t get a soup stain out of it.”

“No spilling, got it.” Jo says, nodding loosely with her neck, sounding not at all like she has got it. She picks up the spoon, and then immediately drops it. Yep, definitely hasn’t got it. Jo glances up at her, and the fire reflecting in her pupils make them look like amber beads. She smiles. “Thank you, Yaz.”

Yaz squeezes Jo’s shoulder before heading back over to her desk. “I’m just over here, babe, just doing some work.” She glances over her shoulder once seated, glad to see Jo is now managing the soup with little spillage. Letting out another long breath, Yaz turns her attention to her work.

It must be about ten minutes later by Yaz’s reckoning that she is stirred from the whirlpool of work by shuffling behind her. She does not clock it at first, thoughts caught by the words she next needs to type, so nearly finished with this report, but is torn from her concentration by the sound of something smashing on hard slate floor.

Heart hammering, the smashing sound having made her jump, Yaz pushes back her chair and turns to survey the scene in the kitchen. She lets out another sigh.

Soup is splattered over the floor and the kitchen cabinets, the bowl in pieces, scattered across the slate tiles. Jo stands at the entrance, looking down with a wince on her face, one hand bracing her against the wall as she sways a little.

“Jo.” Yaz berates her. “You should have left it for me to take out.”

“Sorry.” Jo says, voice rough and nasally with sickness. “The bowl had a life of its own. Slippery soup. Snakey slippery soup.” She laughs harshly, making herself cough. One hand comes up to brace against her forehead, a wave of dizziness obviously hitting her.

“Are you hurt?” Yaz asks her, looking her over, taking a hold of her arm and pulling her hand away from her face. Jo’s eyes are slightly unfocussed, weariness clinging to her like a cloak, the medicine making her woozier than the sickness already would.

Jo shakes her head, and appeased herself Yaz says, “Go back to the sofa, I’ll deal with this.” That irrational irritation is a little bug knowing away at her patience and understanding. Her work seems to glare at her, boring a hole in the back of her head as she tiptoes around shards of bowl, bending down to begin collecting them.

Jo is still hovering in the doorway, and Yaz looks up at her sternly and says, “Sofa.”

Jo reluctantly turns, staggering back to the sofa. Yaz lets herself breath, gets a hold of that impatience and quells it, tells it to back off. A broken bowl and a lost few minutes is not the end of the world. At least Jo was not hurt. Yaz will still get her work done, she can still get this report in by the end of the day…

A thump and a cry come from the longue and Yaz hastily darts over to the bin to throw the shards of bowl away and rushes through into the longue.

“What-” She begins to say, but sighs, lost for words at the sight of Jo splayed out on the floor by the sofa.

“I were trying to reach for the remote.” Jo says, one arm still outstretches towards the coffee table and to where the TV remote sits in the centre.

Yaz, cold and tired and eaten away at by stress and worry over work and Jo finally snaps then. “For goodness sake, just sit down and rest! You’re sick! You’ve already caused enough trouble taking too much medicine and breaking a bowl so please, Jo, just ask me if you want something! I’ve got a report need doing and cleaning up messes unnecessarily made is not helping me here!”

Jo blinks at Yaz, still splayed out on the floor, looking guilty and slightly shell-shocked. Her mouth gapes open as she reaches for a reply. “I… I didn’t want to bother you.”

Yaz feels her own mouth gape open a little at that. She is suddenly speechless. Yaz remembers the first time Jo had been sick, in the summer after her dip in the ocean, remembers Jo admitting she had never properly had parents to take care of her, had done so herself. Yaz had stepped up for the first time, then, out of what she eventually realised was love. Jo had no one to take care of her and Yaz had volunteered herself because she wanted to be the person to make sure she was not alone from that point onward, to be someone she could turn to, in sickness and in health, for help. That promise still stands, and Yaz’s had thought, perhaps foolishly now, that Jo would be forward with asking for Yaz’s help when sick. The soup perhaps was a misdirect; Yaz had made her soup that first time, _that_ was the offering, perhaps she had assumed it was a signal for that same acceptance of help. Instead, however, the woman has taken too much medicine because she was in pain and consequently sent herself a little loopy, broken a bowl because she did not want to disturb Yaz, and is now lain on the cold floor whilst Yaz tries is accusing her of bothering her too much by not bothering her in the first place.

Asking for help has not been Jo’s forte, at any point in her life, the summer had proven that, but they have been working on it, and perhaps Yaz was foolish not to realise that when weak, Jo’s habitual self-isolation, thinking she must face everything alone, might come back in full force. Yaz knows it is no judgement on her own character or love, that Jo is not saying she does not think Yaz can help her, but she supposes with the stress she is facing from work, fuelled by this habit of loneliness, Jo had, as she has said just now, not wanted to bother her.

Guilt twists Yaz’s insides. This is another blip, another thing that will make them stronger; they should have just communicated better. She steps forward, gently taking a hold of Jo and lifting her carefully onto the sofa. The other woman coughs weakly, looking up at Yaz with confused eyes as Yaz drapes the blanket over her again before crouching by her side.

“Yaz? Don’t like it when you’re quiet like this.” Jo comments anxiously and Yaz lets out a sigh, letting her hand rest on Jo’s arm.

“I didn’t mean to snap.” She begins, wetting her lip as she translates thoughts into words. “I’m just a bit stressed with work, and worried about you, and I wish I’d made it more clear to you that you can come to me and ask for help anytime. I might not be able to come straight away, but I will always be there eventually. Always.”

“I just know how much you want to impress Donna. How important it is to you.” Jo mumbles, voice croaking. “I didn’t want to bother you whilst you were working on that.”

“I know.” Yaz says. “And thanks, you know how much I value your support, you….” She smiles fondly. Jo’s eyes are like amber beads again, and Yaz is falling into their honeyed glossiness, their intensity of passion as they look at her. “…You’re the most important thing to me. Us. Our relationship, _that’s_ the most important thing to me. And if you’re sick or not having a good time and you need me then that takes precedence over anything else. I don’t want you thinking you cannot ask me for help, even when I am stressed beyond belief by work, because I love you, Jo. More than anything else I love you. And if you need me, I’ll always be there. Doesn’t mean I’m not also caring ‘bout my work, too.”

Jo takes in a shaky breath, coughing slightly as her chest wheezes. “I’d do the same for you, Yaz. Always.”

“I know.” Yaz says, smiling, drawing the blanket up higher when Jo shivers. “Just please ask me next time you need something?”

Jo nods, and Yaz is convinced and relieved that her partner understands what she has said.

“I really am sorry I snapped.” She adds, and Jo coughs weakly again as she reaches a hand forward and brushes her knuckles softly against Yaz’s cheek. Yaz leans into the touch, letting her eyes flutter closed for a moment at the soft. Forgiveness.

Jo’s hand falls away and Yaz sees her eyes drooping more and more closed. She leans forward, pressing a long, lingering kiss to Jo’s forehead. “Sleep. I’ll clean up that mess.”

The task of cleaning the soup off the floor and cabinets seems easier and quicker now Yaz has sorted things with Jo, now she understands where the both of them stand: that it is alright for Jo to be confused over when she can ask for help, that it is okay for Yaz to be a little stressed over work. That as long as they communicate, they can help and support each other.

She makes quick work of finishing up the report for Donna, the stresses she had put on it that had weighed her down are now gone, and it is a light-footed sprint towards the finish line. She sends it off with a victorious press of the enter key, and she leans back in her chair, letting out a long breath of relief. She glances at the window, to where it is already getting dark outside. That is the one thing she does not like about winter: the days are short, and the night gathers relentlessly, always catching her out with its arrival. A cold wind snakes in through the gap under the door, and Yaz shivers. Her eyes move downwards to look at Jo. The other woman is asleep, finally, but shivering slightly, too. A fire is needed. Definitely.

The fire catches easily and soon enough the light of dancing flames fills the room, warm and comforting. She sits back on her haunches in front of it, pleased, feeling relaxation sink like the fire’s warmth into her muscles, easing the tension. Everything will be okay.

Jo makes a small sound, and Yaz glances her way, pausing when she sees the other woman’s face scrunched up in distress. Jo mumbles once more, shifting a bit. Nightmare. With her slight fever and the medicine, the raised likelihood of one is to be expected. That does not make Yaz’s pain at seeing her partner suffer any easier to swallow.

Yaz makes her way over to Jo’s side, calling her name softly. She does not want to touch her unless absolutely necessary. Jo cries out once more before Yaz calls her name louder and that seems to do the trick, rousing her until heavy-lidded eyelids blink open, bleary eyes peering up at her.

“You were having a nightmare.” Yaz explains in a soft voice. “It’s cold so I’ve lit a fire.”

“Hmm.” Jo frowns, eyes clenching shut as a shiver wracks her frame and she coughs again. Her eyes open again, looking up at Yaz miserably, and finally she admits, “Yaz, I don’t feel too good.”

“It’s alright, babe, give me one sec and I can help, yeah?” Yaz asks her, and Jo nods, watching confusedly as Yaz suddenly runs upstairs.

An impressive minute later and Yaz is back in sweatpants and hoodie, hair loose and their duvet trailing behind her, held around her shoulders like a cape. She lays it over Jo before stoking the fire and adding another log, ensuring it will burn for a while without intervention, and the finally she turns to Jo. “Come on. Let me in there.” She helps Jo to lean forward and Yaz slips onto the sofa behind her, both her legs cocooning Jo’s body. She encourages the other woman to lie back against her, Jo’s head resting in the crook of her neck. Jo lets out a sigh of contentment as Yaz makes sure the duvet is spread comfortably over the both of them before lying back against the cushions. “Better.”

“Much better.” Jo mumbles, already half-asleep. “Thanks, Yaz.”

“Always.” Yaz replies, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. _This_ feels right, this, taking care of Jo, holding her and supporting her through her sickness. She needs Yaz right now, and Yaz needs to take care of her. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Jo murmurs before she slides into sleep, and Yaz smiles, eyes fixed on the crackling fire as she holds her slumbering partner in her arms. In sickness and in health she will always help Jo, and in sickness and in health she will always love her, too. 

* * *

The next day, Yaz receives a text from Donna:

 _Excellent work, Yaz, thank you for your hard work,_ and smiles.

A few days after that, a fully recovered Jo goes to write a new idea in her notebook, and squints down at the page in front of her in confusion. She asks the air, “Why have I written ‘Bill’s cottage jumper conspiracy’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what that ending is aha. Thank you for reading. I'll try to have the next chapter ready for Wednesday but please forgive me if it is not. Everything is hard for everyone right now and I am finding my own personal circumstances challenging, but this story and this universe offers me such comfort and escapism and if I can offer that to other people too in posting then that makes me feel very much less alone, so I'll always try 😊 Idk why I sound so formal lol
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	6. Christmas at the Cove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a day late, sorry, but to those who celebrate Merry Christmas, and to those who don't I hope you are having a good time and are able to chill a bit at this time of year! I hope you enjoy this, the Christmas Eve/Christmas Day instalment! P.S. please forgive me just surreptitiously switching POVs halfway through this first bit because I'm more used to writing Yaz!

The crisp winter air is so sharp Jo feels like she could bite into it as she strides down towards the harbour of Kennock Cove. She is extra careful to keep her balance as she manages the cobbled pavements, the stones are extra slippery with ice, and she is glad she is wearing her boots with the added grip on the soles. She has already fallen over twice in the past few days since recovering from the nasty bout of the flu she had suffered through with Yaz by her side, and she is not looking to make it a third time. Jack already has too much fuel for mockery against her, and she is not going to grant the man anymore.

Besides, she is carrying precious cargo in the tote bag hanging from her shoulder, and she does not want to fall and break it.

She can see ahead of her the large tree installed earlier in the month to celebrate the Christmas season shining with twinkle lights, like small stars dotted amongst bushy branches, sitting proudly in the centre of the harbour, secured down to the ground to battle the strong winds which blow through the small village in the winter months. Fortunately for both the tree and Jo’s balance the wind is quiet today, the air still.

All along the main street houses and shops are decorated with lights and decorations all celebrating the festive season, and there is such a comfort which comes from the lights, from knowing that this year, Jo will not be spending Christmas alone, that she is better than she was this time last year- not perfect, but better. Much, if one compares her to herself of the summer.

All thanks to her family in Kennock Cove, of course, and their help, as well as, and especially because of, the help of one particular person.

She tries to spot her as she rounds the corner from the main street round to the left, heading for Pond’s Pastries, but the doors to the coastguard station are shut, and there is no sign of its crew.

Caught up as she is in looking for her significant other, Jo does not see the figure exiting Pond’s Pastries as she goes to enter, and their bodies collide with impact. Jo’s feet slip on the icy pavement and then she is skidding, desperately trying to stop herself from falling. On instinct, she grabs at the figure in front of her, and with a shout from them and a cry from her they soon fall to the ground as each loses their balance, Jo on the ice and the other person from the sudden force of Jo’s grab.

“Oh my days! Jo!” The figure exclaims from on top of her, which is when Jo realises it is Ryan she had run into and sent falling to the floor with her. Ryan, who is currently scrambling to remove his body weight from hers, coming to a stop on his knees on the pavement. His face appears in her line of vision as he peers over her. “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, m’fine!” Jo assures him, a little out of breath as she speaks, the air clouding in front of her face. Luckily, she had not hit her head when she went down, and all that hurts is her backside and her pride. She tuts. “There go my hopes of not making it a third time.”

Ryan smiles and lets out a chuckle, shaking his head with affection at her antics, and he makes his way to his feet, as cautious as she is on the ice, and holds out a hand for her to take and helps pull her up. She slips a little once she is back on two feet, but Ryan’s hand on her forearm keeps her upright and Jo lets out a breath, brushing off her coat.

The door to Pond’s Pastries opens with a small tinkle of the bell and then Amy is there in the doorway, arms crossed and looking very unimpressed. She shakes her head at Jo. “You bampot.”

“It weren’t my fault!” Jo protests. She glances Ryan’s way, the man looking a little affronted. She winces. “Well, alright, it were partly my fault because I weren’t looking, but-”

“You’re lucky Jack didn’t see that.” Ryan comments with pointed look and a smirk.

Jo tries her very best at menacing. “Don’t you dare tell him! I’ll never live it down!”

Ryan pretends to consider her ‘threat’ for a moment before he shoots her a cheeky wink and punching her lightly on the arm. “I won’t.”

“Thanks, Ryan.”

“Possibly.”

“Oi!”

“Ugh, enough, get in here, I’m letting all the hot air out!” Amy says, pulling back from the door to allow Jo to enter.

“Actually, you’re letting all the cold air _in-”_ She corrects and Amy shoots her a glare.

“Do I look like I care about your technical sciency stuff?” She asks scathingly, and Jo raises her hands in mock surrender, turning to look at Ryan behind her.

“You coming?”

“Err, going, actually, but I’ll be back soon!” Ryan replies, jumping to reassure her. “I just forgot me present.”

Jo nods and the man departs with a small smile, moving his large frame carefully down the street.

“You’re not actually hurt, are you?” Amy asks Jo as she closes the door and moves past her towards the counter, undoing the string of her apron.

“Nah, I’ve had worse falls than that.” Jo reassures her, pulling her beanie hat from her head and stuffing it, along with her gloves, in her tote bag. Whilst doing so, she quickly prods and pokes at the present stowed away in there. It seems to be alright, and she hopes it has survived her fall.

Jo dumps her bag on one of the vacant tables, pushed to the side as alterations have been made to the layout of the room to accommodate their feast. A row of tables has been pushed together in the centre of the room to form one long dining space, with chairs lining either side and both ends. Amy and Rory have laid out plates and cutlery already, crackers by each person’s seat, and in the centre of the table is a beautiful display of holly and ivy, mistletoe and poinsettia, all arranged around three pillared candles, yet to be lit. It is inviting and comforting, and Jo smiles. It is also empty, bar her and Amy and she asks, “S’no one else here yet?”

“Not yet. They’re just finishing up their shift.” Amy answers her, hanging her apron up on a peg behind the counter. “God knows if Oscar is actually going to turn up, Ryan was here, but he’ll be back, which means it falls to _you_ to help finish up the food prep!”

“Ahh what?!” Jo immediately protests, curling her lip. Amy raises her eyebrows at her, and Jo stamps her foot against the ground near toddler-like as she groans, “But you know I _hate_ peeling carrots and _sprouts.”_ She shudders at the last word.

“Well, tough, that’s what you get for being early for once in your life.” Amy remarks, looking at her best friend with amusement. Then she steps closer, regarding Jo with suspicion. “Unless you’re still sick? You’re not still sick, are you?”

Jo seizes the chance and makes a drama out of sniffing and drops her voice a pitch to make it lower and gravelly. “I am, Amy. I’m still sick. You don’t want me helping with the food prep.”

Amy leans in closer, eyes narrowed as she scrutinises Jo, who stares right back, doing her best to look sorry for herself. Amy’s mouth twists, and she regards her best friend for a moment more before she steps back, unconvinced. “You’re not sick! I’ve seen you sick, and you look a right mess! Right now, you look only _sort of_ a mess.”

“Oi!” Jo protests, sighing. She knew that would not work. Amy is too perceptive for her own good.

Amy smirks, and she gestures with her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on. Rory will start getting grouchy thinking I’ve left it all to him.”

Jo reluctantly follows Amy into the kitchen, grateful for the warmth the interior brings as pots boil on the stove and the oven is lit from the inside as their feast cooks. Rory is stood at the workstation in the middle of the room, carefully adding the crust lids to the mince pies sitting neatly on a tray, ready to be baked, and he looks up as the two women enter, shooting Jo a small grin. “Hey, J. Couldn’t escape the preparation work?”

“Sadly not.” Jo complains dramatically, shotting Amy a pointed look. “This is what I get for being early, and it is why I now always plan to be late.”

“You’ve never planned for it before and it’s always happened.” Amy remarks, back turned as she rifles around in the large fridge for something, and Jo sticks her tongue out at her, quickly retreating once again when Amy turns back around. She clutches in her hand a large bunch of carrots. “And just for all your complaining, you’re on carrot duty!”

“Ahh, not fair!” Jo complains, but Amy does not budge, and soon enough the other woman is forced to relent, swiping the carrots from Amy’s hand. She glowers. “Maybe I won’t give you your present later.”

“Oh, so now I know who had me for secret Santa!” Amy says with a victorious little laugh, and Rory shoots Jo an apologetic smile as the woman realises her mistake.

“I cannot win today.” She mutters under her breath. Amy passes by her as Jo head towards the sink to clean the carrots off, and as she does she very quickly places both hands on Jo’s shoulders and swoop a quick peck to her cheek.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.” She says, and Jo smiles.

“I really think you will!”

Amy seems to freeze, and Jo cannot see her face but can tell from the tone of her voice she is trepidatious. “Oh god, I know that tone.”

“What? What tone?” Jo asks, but Amy just pats her shoulders and moves away again.

“We’ll have to wait and see. Now, get a shifty on, I need all those carrots peeled and chopped in ten minutes!”

Jo gets to work, begrudging the task but secretly not the chance to spend time with Amy and Rory alone; in fact, whilst carrots and sprouts are not her favourite, she does love the process of cooking Christmas dinner together; it reminds her of their first years together, when Amy had ensured Jo got to properly enjoy the Christmas period, surrounded by people who loved her, and when Jo had finally began to seek comfort in the twinkling lights and the songs playing all around, instead of associating them with something out her reach, not meant for her, not meant to be enjoyed by someone like her.

She is not that girl anymore. She has so much to be happy about now.

After a while spent working in silence, Jo having moved from the sink to the counter opposite Rory, carefully peeling the skin off of the carrots, Amy asks Jo, her voice laced with a genuine concern, no playful scathingness in it, “How are you feeling? I know it’s different this year, than it was last year, but…” Amy shrugs, unsure how to finish the sentence, but Jo nods slowly, understanding what she is alluding to, seeing the concern in both her and Rory’s eyes as they look to her.

“Good. Not… not perfect, but good.” Jo says assuredly with a small bob of her head. She pauses in her peeling, the carrots spared for a moment. “Spoke with Yaz ‘bout this the other week. It’s not like I’m not going to miss her or forget her, or anything-”

“No, of course.” Amy nods along, agreeing.

“But I don’t feel guilty for enjoying myself without her. Don’t feel like I shouldn’t be celebrating because I don’t deserve it, or because she’s not here…” Jo lets out a long breath, letting her own words soak into her skin, mature those feelings, the certainty, the security with which she says them. Months on from the straw which had very much almost broken the camel’s back and she is making progress.

Amy shoots her a wavering smile, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Good.” She says, a little hoarsely. “I’m glad. So, so, _bloody_ glad.”

Unable to help herself, she discards the piping bag in her hand and crosses the room, pulling Jo into a hug. Jo wraps her arms around Amy and smiles into her neck. “Thank you, Pond. I want this Christmas to be amazin’. For me and Yaz, and for you guys.” She looks at Rory over Amy’s shoulder, who is watching them closely with soft eyes and a small smile on his face. She catches his eye. “You’ve been so good with me. So brilliant.”

“Of course.” Rory says, smile widening.

“Always,” Amy says.

They pull back a few moments later, Amy harshly wiping away the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. “We don’t have time for this! We’re on a schedule!”

Jo laughs, shaking her head affectionately. She considers Amy for a moment. “It’s okay for you to miss her, too, you know, and not feel bad about all the good things we have here, now.”

Amy looks to her with gratitude as her husband comes up behind her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. She covers his hand with her own. “Dammit, I said no crying this year!”

“Oh, come on, it was always gonna happen!” Jo remarks and Amy laughs, Rory and Jo joining in her laughter a second after.

“And she is here,” Rory adds, moving to sling his arms around both women and pull them into his sides. “With us. _In_ us. No, hang on, that sounded a bit...”

“Best quit while ahead.” Amy tells her husband kindly, patting his hand.

“Like the intention, execution a little shoddy.” Jo tells him, but she quickly squeezes his side to let him to know she appreciates his words more than she could tell through any of her own before pulling away from the embrace.

They return to their work, doubling down now that they have less time than planned, and Jo hopes Amy does not notice how the carrots are not sliced neatly in her rush, but instead are cut into all random shapes and sizes as she works to get them sorted; anyway, she thinks it looks better that way, more… artistic.

It is not long after Jo has thrown all the carrots into the pot on the stove ready to be cooked that they hear the sounds of the front door of the café opening and voices. The coastguard team are here, then.

Jo discards her empty chopping board on the kitchen counter and goes through to greet them. Jack and Ryan, who has returned with present in hand, are chattering animatedly, laying out their presents for the Secret Santa on one of the tables pushed to the side, and Martha is talking to Yaz, who is watching the woman as they talk with interested eyes aglow, hair loose of its bun now she is socialising. She looks beautiful.

“Hiya!” She greets everyone, and they all give a cheer and wave, and Jo’s heart feels like it is fit to burst at the welcome.

“Hi, babe.” Yaz says, finishing her conversation with Martha and heading to Jo’s side as the boys head into the kitchen to see if there is anything they can do to help. Martha digs around in her bag for her own present for Secret Santa. “I heard you fell over again.”

Jo looks scandalised. “Ryan!” She shouts, and hopes the younger man hears her outrage. She seethes quietly. “I knew he would tell you all.”

Yaz laughs and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “As long as you’re alright.”

“M’fine.” Jo grumbles, still looking petulant.

She soon forgets her irritation, however, when Grace and Graham bustle through the door with presents in hand and sweep them into a hug each, Grace peering into Jo’s eyes to make sure she is fully recovered from the flu before she pinches her cheek, grandmotherly affection written all over her face.

“M’fine Grace.” Jo assures her.

“It’s my privilege to worry about you two, about you all.” Grace tells her, smiling fondly at the two of them. Jo’s heart flutters as the warmth inside her becomes almost scalding in its intensity. A year ago, she would not have thought she would be in this position.

Soon after Grace and Graham’s arrival they are all of them with drinks in hand, seated around the table waiting for the dinner to be served. Ryan and Jack had insisted Amy sit down for the serving, and with Rory’s help they carry out the dishes of food, laying them down in the centre of the table.

“Everyone tuck in!” Amy calls across the room, and everyone cheers and raises their glasses and respective beverages in the air in thanks to their host. She waves them away, but Yaz can see the pleased smile on her face.

An array of vegetables and meats are displayed in front of them, piled high and sumptuous, along with sauces and condiments and Yorkshire puddings, Jo’s favourite. Once everyone is seated, she piles three onto her plate.

“Joanne, save some for the others!” Yaz tells her, but Jo just looks at her innocently as she bites into one, using her fingers to hold it like a biscuit. Yaz sighs and shakes her head, a fond smirk on her face.

They are seated next to each other on the side facing the window, with Amy at the head of the table their end and Grace the head at the other. The others have filled in the remaining spaces, with one seat vacant. Yaz had not been sure he would turn up.

She is spearing a carrot onto her fork when the bell at the door chimes, and everyone turns in unison to see Oscar walk in, familiar scowl on his face as he enters.

“Oh.” Amy says before she can stop herself. “You came.”

“Well,” Oscar says, looking to Jo. “I was invited.”

“Yes!” Jo says, standing, fork laden with turkey and vegetables still in her hand. She gestures with it to the spare seat, next to Rory and opposite Yaz. In the process a pea flies off of the fork and hits Ryan in the face. “There’s a seat there.”

Oscar mutters his thanks and slinks over to the chair, sitting down on it without looking anyone else directly in the eye. Jo sits back down as he does, and the scraping of her chair against the floor as she tucks it in is the only sound in the room for a moment.

The awkward silence is only broken when Rory shifts his chair back from the table and turns to Oscar to ask, “Can I get you a drink?”

“There’s some chicken there which is halal, Amy made sure.” Yaz says once Rory has headed to the kitchen to fetch Oscar his drink. She is doing her best in the light of Jo and Oscar’s patching things up and sorting themselves out of last week to be a bit more amiable to the man, although Yaz will not say he is quite her favourite person yet. “And there’s veggies and other side dishes as well.”

“Right.” Oscar says, clearing his throat as he picks up his plate. His mouth twitches upwards and he glances Yaz’s way. She would not call it a smile per say, but it is thanks enough from him. She returns to her own meal, satisfied.

Things return to their normal, bubbly and comfortable tempo after that, Oscar fitting himself into the group as best he can and soon finding himself engaged in a conversation with Rory about something or another. Yaz settles back into her meal. Amy really is an excellent cook.

“Interesting shape these carrots, cockle.” Graham says across the table to Amy as he holds a carrot up on the end of his fork, examining it like a scientific specimen. The carrot is cut in a triangular shape, and not at all neat in its execution.

Amy’s nostrils flare, and she turns to Jo, eyebrows raised in expectation of an explanation. Jo looks sheepish. “It’s artistic?” She offers up and Amy gives her a look that says ‘really?!’ before sighing and stabbing her own carrot onto her fork to examine its shape. Hers looks like a misshapen banana.

“I like them, babe.” Yaz reassures her when Jo looks down at her plate, a little defeated. The other woman sends her a grateful smile.

“Thanks Yaz.” She says, and victoriously shoves a carrot into her mouth.

Their plates are nearly all cleared when Grace taps her fork against the side of her glass, bringing the conversations around the table to a stop. The older woman stands, and looking down at Graham she takes her partner’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Me and Graham, we just wanted to say something quickly. Seeing as we’re reaching the end of the year and this is a time for coming together and being with the ones you love and care for, we thought it might be appropriate to just say now how thankful we are to each and every one of you.”

Everyone watches avidly as Grace smiles down at Graham, who presses a quick kiss to the back of her hand. The older woman takes a deep breath, looking at each and every one of them, even Oscar, Yaz would never doubt the woman’s kindness would stretch to him, would understand his mistakes as what they are, only mistakes, before she continues talking. “This year has been one of great change. But sometimes that change can be a good thing, even if it might not appear that way at first. We’ve welcomed some new faces to our community down here and are now lucky enough to say that they are a part of our family. And what a family it is!” She says with pride and they all laugh, and underneath the table Yaz takes Jo’s hand in her own and squeezes it tight. She glances to the other woman, sees the welling emotion in her eyes, and gives her a beaming smile of her own. “I wouldn’t change any of you, for any money offered t’me!”

“I might change Graham’s keeping sandwiches in his pockets!” Ryan jokes, and everyone chuckles at Graham’s expense.

The man himself just shrugs and replies, “Always handy if you need a snack!”

“Anyway, back to what I were saying.” Grace says, sighing good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t change ya, because you’re all amazing in your own singular ways. Each and every one of you. I cannot thank you enough for who you are. You make this place, you make our lives. This year has been a big one, but it’s also been an amazing one, and I want to end it by celebrating each and every one of ya!”

Grace raises her glass in a toast, and everyone follows suit. Yaz is beaming ear to ear, as is everyone else, some with tears sparkling in their eyes. Yaz can hear Jo’s breath has gone shallow and shaky in her ear, and she gives her partner’s hand another squeeze. She knows how much Grace’s words must have meant to her, how much they mean for them all. She herself wants to fling her arms around Grace in a grateful hug.

“Here’s to us all!” Grace says, and they all echo her words back, sipping from their glasses. Oscar looks a little more sheepish and skittish than everyone else, but when Yaz catches his eye for a brief second, she sees his usual disdain battling with something softer, encouraged by Grace’s words. Fuelled by said words herself Yaz shoots him a small smile, and his lips twitch upwards once again in response. She averts her gaze, satisfied. It feels good to work towards healing old wounds.

“Hey,” Jo says, and Yaz turns to her, the other woman looking at her like she has just hung the moon. “Love you.”

Yaz smiles back at Jo as if she has just lit the sun. “Love you, too.”

They lean in for a kiss, and maybe it would be soppy and sentimental but they are here, celebrating Christmas with their loved ones, with ones they love deeply and dearly, and ones they hope to come to know and understand a little better in the future. Their Kennock Cove family.

Soon after Grace’s speech the main course is whisked away by the boys, Oscar volunteering to also help and earning some brownie points with Amy, and then cakes and pastries and pies are being placed down in front of them and Yaz can feel her mouth salivating at the sight despite the fact she has just eaten a main meal.

“Ah! Crackers first!” Amy orders once everyone is seated again, and Ryan pulls back eager fingers from pinching a mince pie begrudgingly.

With everyone taking a cracker in each hand they pull and with a fantastic _snap!_ the crackers are torn in two, small cheap gifts and paper hats falling out, as well as the small slips of paper upon which cheesy jokes are written. It is not long until they are going around the table, each person reading one out.

“Right,” Yaz says, once it gets to her turn. “’What do you call a blind reindeer?’”

“No idea.” Jo says, shaking her head, looking at Yaz expectantly for the answer.

“Yes!” Yaz says, pointing at her.

Jo blinks. “The answer is ‘yes’?”

Yaz sees Amy drop her head into her hands and groan.

“You’ll like this one, gran.” Ryan says a few minutes later once Yaz’s joke has been thoroughly explained to Jo. “’What do frogs wear on their feet?’”

Grace, the frog lover and sharp-minded woman she is, has the answer before Ryan can even think to say it. “Open-toad sandals!”

“Oh, here’s an old classic!” Graham says, shifting in his seat to read out his joke. “’What is yellow and dangero-‘”

“Shark-infested custard!” Practically everyone shouts out before he can finish, and Graham stabs the air with finger as if to say ‘you’ve go it!’ Oscar grits his teeth and sighs heavily.

Once finished with the crackers, pudding is a much quicker affair, partly because people are so full on the main course, they do not eat as much of the sweet treats as they have the savoury. It is not long until their plates are all cleared away, the boys promising to do the washing up, and Amy claps her hands together, announcing it is time to exchange Secret Santa gifts. With the paper hat from the cracker sat atop her head, she looks like a queen.

Yaz receives an Amazon voucher and a mug decorated with small cartoon figures of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, a gift so practical and thoughtful she knows it is from Grace, and the older woman’s eyes twinkle at her from across the table.

“Ah! Brilliant!” Jo exclaims, holding up her gift. It is a book and going from the title and the bit of the blurb Yaz reads over Jo’s shoulder, focusing on the representation of stars, planets, and constellations in myths and legends. Jo looks up and around the room. “Thank you…. Secret Santa!”

Yaz sees Ryan duck his head, looking pleased. She smiles.

They go through every person, and when it gets to Amy’s turn Yaz glances to Jo, seeing her shift in her chair excitedly. Amy, too, glances to Jo, looking apprehensive, and Yaz gets the impression Jo might have already let slip she is the giver of this present. She digs her hand into the gift bag, her expression turning from one of trepidation to one of confusion when she grabs a hold of her gift. When she pulls it out, she holds a metal contraption which looks like a pair of tongs but with a car aerial attached to it. 

“Err- what is it?” Amy asks, hanging the thing up by her face with the tips of her fingers, looking at it as if it is a strange creature.

“It’s a pair of retractable tongs!” Jo says.

Amy tests out the tongs, bringing the teeth together and then open again. She looks to Jo. “A what?”

“A pair of retractable tongs!” Jo repeats, leaning across the table and holding out her hand. Amy places the tongs in her hand and Jo takes them, pulling out the aerial aspect until at full length. “Look!” She demonstrates, opening and closing the tongs from the end of the aerial. “It’s so when you’re cooking something and it’s spitting, or you’ve got things in the oven and you don’t want to put your arm in because it’s hot, you can reach from a distance!”

Amy nods, a little bewildered but the gift is practical, if not a little bizarre. Jo retracts the aerial and hands the tongs back to Amy. Yaz glances around the table: everyone is looking at Jo with a hint of bemusement and also the genuine look of being impressed at her invention skills. Yaz thinks it is brilliant.

“Thanks, Smith, that’s… pretty much what I’d expect from a gift from you.” Amy says, and Jo looks delighted at her friend’s reaction.

It is when everyone else has had their gifts that Yaz realises that there is not anything for Oscar; Jo’s late invite had meant he had missed the pooling for Secret Santa. It is not like he _has_ to have one, and Yaz has a suspicion there is nothing he would like less, but it is still awkward when everyone else is sat with a gift in front of him and Oscar has nothing.

Luckily, Jo perks up. “Oh! Oscar, I’ve got something for you…”

She stands, heading towards the counter. They all watch her go in confusion, Oscar most of all, looking a little… trepidatious, backfooted. Yaz feels the same, she has no idea what this is about.

“Oh, is _that_ why you stored that back there a few days ago?” Amy asks Jo, who’s head perks up from behind the counter like a meerkat.

“Yep!” She says. “Just thought that then, I wouldn’t forget to bring it. Also, s’bit inconspicuous…”

She walks around from behind the counter with something hidden behind her back, and comes to a stop across the table from Oscar. He looks up at her warily, distrustful in the face of Jo’s cheery grin. And then Jo presents the gift to him.

She is holding a child’s sledge, a bright blue plastic thing with a white piece of string acting as a rein.

Yaz feels herself tense, wondering which way Oscar will take this, this truly the test of their new promise to each other not to wind each other up. Yaz thinks she knows why Jo did not tell her about this before, Yaz would surely have warned her it might not be the best idea, but she trusts her partner is doing this in good spirit, this time, not to wind him up. More an inside joke between two people than a snide stab.

Oscar looks at Jo and Jo looks at Oscar. “S’just jokes.” She says, sincerity tinging the humour.

Oscar sighs, still not looking happy about it but Yaz can see he understands that this is banter. He takes the gift from Jo, muttering thanks and immediately tucking it under the table.

After that the evening dissolves into drinks and dancing when Amy turns on the speaker in the café whilst the boys clear up, blasting Christmas music. They push the tables back and an impromptu dance floor is formed. Oscar disappears soon after this escalation.

Yaz think she dances with everyone, some slow dances, some upbeat bops to which they all simply dance erratically and randomly. The atmosphere is warm and joyous, and Yaz pulls Jo in for a slow dance when a crooning song comes on, and she wraps her arms around Jo’s neck and then tucks her nose into her the crook between neck and shoulder, Jo’s chin resting on Yaz’s shoulder. Surrounded by their friends, their _family,_ it is perfect. 

* * *

The morning dawns frosty and crisp, the perfect frosting of ice and snow. Yaz wakes to an arm slung around her waist, a nose nudging at her neck, soft and even breaths tickling the skin. A smile grows as she grows more cognisant to time and place, to the person spooning her; normally Yaz is the big spoon, but this is a nice switch of positions, and she certainly isn’t complaining as she snuggles down further under the duvet and closes her eyes again.

She wakes again an indeterminate amount of time later to the smell of cooking, sweet and sharp in her nose. The pressure around her waist is gone, and when she rolls onto her back, the sheets to her left hand side are cold, Jo long gone, apparently. The light coming through the windows is bright and stark, the sun reflecting off the snow which still lays on the ground, although much shallower than it had been. A white Christmas. How perfect.

Shuddering a little at the cold floor under her bare feet, Yaz makes quick work of sliding on a pair of thick, fluffy socks and a faux-fur lined zip-up hoodie pulled from the dresser drawer. As she is zipping up the garment, she spots the small note on the bed, Jo’s scrawling handwriting staining the paper.

“ _Your first present is downstairs.”_

Confused and bemused, all their presents are downstairs sitting under the tree, Yaz makes her way out of their bedroom and down the stairs, the smell of cooking and the sound of Christmas songs being blasted from the kitchen become stronger and louder as she makes her way through the front living room and comes to a stop in the doorway to the kitchen. She beams at the sight which greets her.

Jo is at the hob, concentrating hard, tongue poking out the side of her mouth, as she attempts to flip a pancake. Yaz is tempted to watch to see if her partner succeeds, however, what might be much funnier is if she were to…

Yaz coughs just as Jo goes to flip the pancake in the air. The other woman jumps, turning to Yaz as the pancake goes whirling into the air, thrown with more force than necessary, fuelled by Jo’s surprise. As a result, instead of landing back in the pan like it should have done, the pancake gets stuck to the ceiling instead.

Jo looks up at in surprise, blinking confusedly, and Yaz smirks, stepping down further into the room and curling her hand around the back of Jo’s neck. Jo turns to her at that movement, her eyes wide as she looks at Yaz.

“Yaz!” She says.

“Hey, babe.” Yaz replies, leaning forward until their lips are brushing. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merr… Yes, Merry Christmas!” Jo says, coming back to herself after the pancake surprise and beaming before pressing her lips to Yaz’s. They share a long, lingering kiss, and when they break apart Yaz feels a pleasant shiver run down her back. Jo resumes her beaming as she looks at Yaz, pleased. “Did you get your note?”

“I did.” Yaz nods. “What’s it all about?”

“This!” Jo says, stepping back and placing the pan back on the hob. She gestures around her at the kitchen, and Yaz’s heart warms to see she has laid the table with empty plates, a pot of tea, and a larger plate in the centre upon which a pile of pancakes already rests, next to a gathering of toppings and condiments. By the hob, a half-full jug of batter sits waiting for use. “I made you breakfast!”

“Oh, babe, thank you.” Yaz says, stepping forward and pulling Jo into a hug. The other woman’s arms snake around her waist and hold her close for a moment before they pull apart. Just at the right time, too, as no sooner have they stepped away from each other than the pancake on the ceiling comes splatting down onto the floor, falling between the both of them with impressive velocity. They both stare at it for a moment before looking at one another, both of them bursting into giggles.

“I think that one might be a lost cause.” Jo says as Yaz bends and picks up the pancake, walking over to the bin to throw it away.

“Well, it looks like you made enough batter to feed an army.” Yaz comments, nodding at the jug. Jo scoffs, turning back to the hob and preparing the pan for another pancake.

“Can never do too much, Yaz. Why limit ourselves? It’s Christmas!”

“I’d think you’d say that even if it wasn’t Christmas.” Yaz comments as she slides into her seat at the table, reaching for the tea pot.

Jo looks over her shoulder at Yaz with a smile. “You’re absolutely right there, Yaz. You know me so well.”

To Yaz, that is the greatest compliment and honour she could receive. She smiles into her mug, sipping at her tea. “Good thing I like pancakes, then.” 

* * *

“Me first!” Jo says, darting under the Christmas tree and rummaging around in the small pile of presents. Yaz sips her tea, unsubtly admiring the way Jo’s shirt rises up and exposes the dip of her lower back, and leans back against the sofa, both women sat on the floor as they give their presents to each other.

Jo shuffles upright with a victorious smile on her face, small box wrapped in constellation patterned (of course) wrapping paper, presenting it to Yaz with excitement. Yaz places her tea down on the floor next to her and takes the box.

“Aww, thank you babe.”

“You’re going to love it!” Jo says, leaning forward a bit to watch for Yaz’s reaction.

Yaz laughs as she rips the paper off of the box. “You sound very confident.”

“Oh, I know you will.” Jo says, sounding, yes, very confident.

Yaz takes her word for it and slides her thumb under the gap in the carboard to lift up the lid. She pulls back the sheet of tissue paper covering the top, and gasps. “Oh!”

Jo looks smugly satisfied. “Told you!”

Yaz gently picks up the first bubble-wrapped covered object, unwinding the protection and letting it drop to her lap as she takes in the small, porcelain seal in her hands, rubbing her thumb over it adoringly. She _knew_ Jo had noticed, she _knew_ she had been faking when she had pretended to be fascinated the salt and pepper shakers at the Christmas market in Padstow back at the beginning of the month. She carefully places the first, the larger mother seal, back into the box and takes a hold of the smaller, baby seal, admiring it with just as much reverence as the first.

“Thank you so much, goose.” She says to Jo, looking up at her, seeing Jo watching her with a joy that stems from the happiness on Yaz’s face.

“You’re welcome.” Jo says.

“I’ll put them on the mantelpiece once the garland is all packed away.” Yaz says, setting the seals back in the box. She carefully pulls herself to her feet, padding over to the window looking out over the village excitedly. “For now, they can look out here! Out at the sea!”

She steps back and admires the sight of the two porcelain seals she has been so enamoured ever since she set sight on them, pleased and overjoyed at their place in their home, and how they had gotten there in the first place. It feels like they are really making this space their own, memories dotted over the property in photos and other objects, now joined by new memories of their life here as they begin to settle and mature into it. She loves it.

She turns around to thank Jo once again but stops and finds herself laughing and shaking her head in soft exasperation at the sight of Jo popping the bubble wrap. “Babe?”

“Yeah?” Jo says, looking up at Yaz as she continues to pop the bubble wrap between her fingers.

Yaz gestures behind her to the windowsill. “What do you think?”

Jo’s gaze moves to the seals. “Nice! You could say that’s now a window _seal_!”

Yaz rolls her eyes and snorts, shaking her head as she settles herself down on the ground by the sofa again. “Oh my god, that’s got to be your worst!”

“You mean my best!” Jo says.

Yaz smirks and gestures to the bubble wrap. “You wanna stop doing that and open my first present to you, babe?”

“Yes! Yes I do!” Jo says, throwing the bubble wrap to the ground. She then thinks differently and neatly places it on top of the coffee table. “Save that for later.”

Yaz laughs but points to the gifts under the tree, hers for Jo wrapped in a paper decorated with Brussel sprouts with cartoon faces and Santa hats. She directs Jo towards one stowed carefully away at the back, large and flat and rectangular in shape. Her heart jumps in her chest as excitement and nerves battle each other in equal measure as Jo hastily unwraps her gift. Yaz hopes she likes it.

“Oh, Yaz!” Jo exclaims when the final strip of paper is removed and the gift underneath is revealed. In a fine oak frame is a painting of Kynance Cove, the sight of their first proper date. It is captured in summer, and the contemporary impressionist style of the artist, a woman with a shop in the next village over, Trebarwith Strand, lends an ethereal and almost fairytale like quality to the dipping and cresting of the waves, the smooth and sharp contradictions of the rocks, the grainy quality of the sand. Yaz had been captured by it ever since she walked past once after attending a case in the village, and after a few days’ thought she had gone in and purchased it, hoping it would be the perfect first Christmas gift for her partner.

“You like it?” Yaz asks, although she can see from Jo’s beaming face she does. Relief runs like cool water in her veins.

“It’s- it’s-” Jo says, apparently too surprised for words.

“It’s Kynance Cove,” Yaz confirms. “I thought, seeing as that was where we had our first proper date, that it might be a nice reminder of- _umph_!”

Yaz’s words are cut off as Jo launches herself at her, pressing their lips together in a desperate kiss. Yaz barely has time to realise it is happening before they are breaking apart and Jo is admiring the painting in her lap.

“It’s… It’s so beautiful, Yaz. One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever received.” She looks up at Yaz, and her wide eyes are glistening with tears. “And the most meaningful.”

Some of her own spring to Yaz’s eyes at the sight, and she knows as well as Jo why exactly they have appeared. That is the reason Yaz bought it in the first place, for although this painting is the artist’s view of the place, within it Yaz found remnants of her own memories of that time, of the romantic haze in which their trip, in its first few days anyway, had resided. They had had no cares except for each other back then, ignorant of and ignoring time, excited by the prospect of the newness of their intimacy. In a way, the painting is a promise, a reminder of how since those early days it has grown to remain something constant, immovable. One could paint Kynance Cove one hundred years from now and Yaz and Jo’s love would still remain just as sturdy as those rocks, as dynamic and expansive as the ocean waves.

“I love it, Yaz. I really, _really_ love it.” Jo says. She sniffs, and leans forwards to press another kiss to Yaz’s lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, babe.” She says, reciprocating the kiss, eyelashes wet and heavy as she blinks. “I thought we could put it up over the fireplace? Just above the mantelpiece.”

“Right in the centre of the room.” Jo says, looking up at the empty space which they have yet to fill. Honestly, Yaz has been putting Jo off putting anything there for a while now since she knew she wanted this painting to go there. She turns back to Yaz, beaming. “Brilliant!”

Once they have both taken a moment in which Jo has carefully leant the painting against one of the bookcases on the floor for the time being and they have both taken long gulps of their tea to recover from that unexpectedly moving moment, they resume opening the last two gifts they have bought each other.

Yaz presents hers to Jo in a brightly decorated gift bag, tissue paper bursting from the top. Jo presents hers to Yaz in wrapping paper done with more passion than skill. Yaz begins to get suspicious when she notices the gift she has wrapped to Jo, hidden in the bag under all that tissue paper, is the same size and shape as the parcel Jo has gifted her, small and square. Her suspicions grow as when she unwraps the present, she is greeted with a soft teal jewellery box. When Jo pulls her gift out from the bag, it is the same.

“Ah.” She says, looking between her gift and Yaz’s.

“Did you get this…” Yaz says, holding up her present.

“At the stall in Padstow?” Jo fills in for her, wincing. “The same lady who we bought our necklaces off? Yeah.”

Yaz had thought she had made a real find in spotting the same stall and the same vendor from whom they had bought their matching necklaces back in the Falmouth in the summer. She had been tucked away in one of the streets off the main route, and she had, perhaps naively, too caught up in her excitement, thought the chances of Jo finding her were low; the other woman had been so excited by all the other stalls Yaz had wondered whether she had even gotten past the main harbour area in their allotted solo shopping time.

Unfortunately, she has been proved wrong, and they both hold matching boxes. Yaz reasons, “It’s nice actually, isn’t it? That we both got something from her. Just like our first gift to each other.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re right.” Jo says, nodding. She pulls a face as she reasons back, “And just because the boxes are the exact same doesn’t mean we got each other the same thing, does it?”

“No! Exactly!” Yaz says, scoffing. They both laugh, before they peeter off into a slightly awkward silence. “Open on three?” Yaz suggests.

Jo nods, and, after Yaz has counted down from three, both women open their boxes and peer inside.

Jo has bought Yaz a gorgeous pair of earrings inset with her birth stone, aquamarine. Around the edge of the stone is engraved intricate detailing. Her heart fills as well as lurching as she realises that yes, they have got each other the exact same thing, birthstones excluded; Jo’s is opal.

“Jo…” She says.

“Yaz…” Jo says back, eyes as wide as Yaz’s surely are as they look at each other.

“We’ve bought each other the exact same gift.” Yaz states the obvious.

“We have.” Jo replies.

They look at each other more before they burst into giggles, Yaz clapping her hand to her mouth as she doubles over. It is ridiculously hilarious. The same vendor, sure, but the exact same _earrings?_

“I saw them and thought they’d suit you, plus they go with the necklace.” Jo explains past her laughter.

“Me too.” Yaz says, wiping tears, of hilarity this time, from her eyes. “I thought you’d like them because they’re not too glitzy, but they’ve still got this extra special touch.”

“I suppose it does make sense, really.” Jo says, admiring the earrings, lightly touching them with the tip of her finger.

Yaz nods. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Hilarious it might be, but it does make sense, in a way. They both gravitated without knowing it to the stall which played a part in the unfurling of those very tentative first steps over the line into a proper confession to their feelings for each other, and they had both been smitten with the necklace before, so it makes sense they might be smitten with something else and want to get it for the other as they did before.

“At least we’ll be proper matchy matchy now.” Jo comments, and Yaz frowns at that.

“Oh no. We’re not going to be like those couples that dress the exact same, are we?”

Jo scrunches her nose up. “I don’t think it’s as bad as all that.” Her widen as she considers. “Although, if you were thinking-”

“No.” Yaz cuts her off. “I love your dress sense on you, but on me? No way.”

Once they have actually thanked each other for their earrings, they truly are beautiful and Yaz makes quick work of putting them on, enjoying feeling the weight of them as she moves her head to and fro, Yaz thinks that is it, they had agreed not to go overboard with the presents this year, and is about to clear away the paper and head upstairs to change when Jo suddenly says, “Oh! I got you something else!”

She rummages around in the pocket of her pyjamas for something and Yaz cranes her neck to see if she can see whatever it is.

“What? We said we were only going to do two.” She says.

“Ah ha!” Jo says, pulling the thing from her pocket and clasping it tight in her fist. At Yaz’s confused expression she unfurls her grip and dangles a piece of mistletoe from her fingertips.

Yaz rolls her eyes and laughs, shaking her head good naturedly. “You sop!”

“Ha! It’s good though, you’ve got to admit.” Jo says with a beaming grin.

Yaz quirks her eyebrow at Jo. “Well, if you want to give me my gift, _you’re_ going to have to be the one to move over here. Don’t think I’m coming to you.”

Jo scrambles across the floor, the table legs scraping across the carpet as she puts her pressure on it to push herself forward. Yaz laughs as, with the enthusiasm of a Labrador offered a treat, her partner enters her space, stopping only shy of Yaz’s lips and looking into her eyes, reflecting the same feelings Yaz feels, both of them warm and safe in their cocoon of a home and love.

“Can I kiss you now?” Jo asks, panting slightly.

“You don’t have to ask.” Yaz says, and she cannot help the small waver of her voice as excitement roils through her like a wave. Jo smiles, and, raising the hand holding the mistletoe over their heads, she presses her lips to Yaz’s.

Yaz has to admit, this might be her favourite gift. 

* * *

With sludge underfoot and ice in their lungs, Jo and Yaz make their along one of the coastal paths, heading back from the clifftops and inland, towards the main road. They had decided on going for a walk, to some it is a tradition, but it had seemed like a nice idea to the both of them; now that there is less snow underfoot it is easier to walk, although they both have been alert for icy patches which might be slippery.

The day is bright, the air crisp, a pale low-lying sun beaming down on them as they finally make it to the main road, the village below them, still a good fifteen-minute walk away. They had seen a few other villagers around on their walk, including Grace and Graham, who had embraced them warmly, but this far out there is no one around, they cannot even hear any cars on the road.

“Okay?” Yaz asks Jo as they stand across from the small gap in the hedge on the side of the road, a car park laid out just beyond, and then just beyond that…

“Yeah.” Jo says, sniffing, her nose-tinged pink in the cold weather. With her rainbow scarf and navy beanie, Yaz thinks she looks extra gorgeous. She eyes the dell with a little trepidation, but her hand squeezes Yaz’s and her shoulders are pushed back as she says, “Let’s go. Don’t want to stand still for too long, I’m starting to not feel my toes.”

Yaz laughs and allows herself to be pulled along by Jo as they cross the road and head down into the car park and to the grassy area beyond. Frost not yet bared to the sun’s gaze is crunchy underfoot, and as they make their way through the woodland, going deeper into the dell, there is a mystical winteriness to the nature here, as if it resides slightly outside of the plane of their existence, is some sort of mythical land like Narnia. What it provides for Jo and Yaz, though, is as real as anything they might feel in the real world.

They finally come to a stop in the clearing which has been a rather crucial point in their relationship so far, be it a sign of Jo’s trust to Yaz in the very early days of their knowing each other, or the place Yaz knew Jo would come in her bid to reassure her that Yaz’s love was constant, or the place which had offered up, and here its mysticality becomes stronger still, the answer to Yaz’s searching when Jo had disappeared at the very precipice of all that could have been and all that could not. All of this is very important for a grassy clearing through which a river runs, but Yaz and Jo see it differently. The dell is the safe space, the constant, the place to come to think. Cut off from the rest of the world.

Jo stands them right on the edge of the bank, watching the river run lazily downstream. Ice sits in a thin layer on its surface, and when Jo toes it with her boot, the ice cracks, the lines spreading outwards like a cobweb, scarring white. Jo hums, watching the pattern form, how as she toes it further the water converges on the ice and seems to eat it, slipping over with deceptive innocence in its gentle caress as the ice is drowned.

Yaz watches her carefully and surreptitiously as Jo seems to take deeper breaths, as if her lungs had been held behind iron bands before then. She watches the water, her eyes filled with a myriad of thoughts. Yaz thinks she knows what Jo is pondering over, and she gives her the time she needs to process past and present, to see them as working alongside each other, one not cutting off the other with a sheet of ice made from guilt and self-doubt. Here they watch the river flow and Jo remembers a woman of the same name without thought for dire consequences. Joy sits alongside grief and saudade and does not bemoan its partner; it simply pats it on the back and tells it it is welcome.

Jo needed this time on this day to come and process, and Yaz is glad and honoured that she could be part of this private moment. She tightens her grip on Jo’s hand and remains a quiet yet strong presence by her side. See peers down at the water herself and surely must trick herself with the slithers which gleam like quicksilver in the water, even though the sun has yet to cast its gaze upon this place. Suddenly she is warmer, but she thinks that just might be finally stopping after the exertion of their walk.

The gentle touch of a wan sun is beginning to brush against the skeletal trees by the time Jo announces she is happy to leave if Yaz is. Yaz nods and offers her a smile which speaks the truth of her understanding and support, and Jo sends her back one just as imbued with feeling: grateful and loving, and also relieved.

There is a calmness to the emotions, no stormy skies or choppy waves, just the two of them in a secluded dell where the gentle river flows and the knowledge that things are better, that even when they leave this place cut off from the world that calm and that knowledge will remain, like a promise from nature. A gift. 

* * *

“Hi mum!” Yaz waves at the camera as the image of her mother pops up on her laptop screen, Skype making a pinging noise as it successfully connects.

“Hello, darling.” Najia greets. She is sat on their sofa at home, Yaz can see, bookcases and wall hangings strung up behind her. “How are you? How’s Jo?”

“We’re doing fine.” Yaz assures her. She glances around for her partner, unsure as to where Jo has got to. They have been back from their walk a good half hour, and Yaz has had time to change into comfy trousers and a Christmas sweater which edges more on the side of stylish than garish, with a fair isle print around the collar. Jo had said she was going to change, but that had been fifteen minutes ago. “How are you and dad? How’s Sonya? She still hasn’t replied to my texts. Is she there?”

“Oh, me and your dad are fine, darling.” Najia says. “And no, your sister isn’t here, she’s off on a romantic trip with that man she’s been seeing.”

“She’s been seeing a man?” Yaz asks. She feels slightly guilty she has grown so out of loop with her sister’s life. Sonya does not help the situation by not replying to her texts half as much as she should, but Yaz feels perhaps she should have made more effort by now to at least call Sonya.

“Well, I’m not going to pry and share her details, I know you two hate it when I do that.” Najia says, wizened by the years and how her daughters have grown from girls to women, knowing when to back off and not stick her nose in their business. “Anyway, you’ll see her in a few days, she can tell you then.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Yaz says. “We’re looking forward to you coming down!”

“Oh, Yaz, you have no idea how excited me and your father are about finally seeing where you live.” Najia says, and then her attention is caught by something off screen.

“Is that Yaz?” Hakim’s voice comes.

“Well who else would it be?” Najia retorts. The camera shifts a bit and Yaz’s dad appears, bracing his hands on the back of the sofa, peering down at Yaz’s visage on the screen. She waves.

“Hi dad!”

“Hello, love!” Hakim says, waving back. “Looking forward to seeing you soon!”

“And Jo.” Najia says, and Yaz can see her surreptitiously peering past Yaz at the room behind her, looking for Jo. Yaz is sat on their sofa, which only has the back door and the window behind it, which will not get her very far. “Where is she?”

“Not sure.” Yaz says, trying her best to peer up the stairs. She is about to call Jo’s name when there is the sound of floorboards creaking above and then her partner is clambering down the stairs.

“Is that your mum?” Jo asks her.

“Call me Najia, Jo.” Najia replies from the screen a little wearily. They have been over that one too many times. Yaz is warmed, however, to see how her mother smiles when Jo appears on screen, shuffling herself into the space next to Yaz on the sofa. “How are you, dear?”

“Never better, I’ve got my Christmas jumper on!” Jo says, skirting the question and proudly displaying her jumper to Najia and Yaz. It is in a pale blue hue, with white circles representing snow dotted over it. The main attraction, however, is the large image of a seal donned with a Santa hat, sat upon a rock as the waves lap its flippers, smiling comedically up at Yaz with cartoon eyes, the Santa hat is sewn onto the front of the jumper rather than being part of the weave of the wool, as are the googly eyes. “I couldn’t decide which one to wear, which is why I was taking so long.”

“I love it.” Yaz says, smiling. It is garish, but so very Jo.

“Very fetching.” Najia comments, not looking so sure.

“What is that? A slug?” Hakim asks, and Yaz groans and rolls her eyes.

“Dad, why would they put a _slug_ on a jumper?”

“It’s a seal.” Yaz explains to Hakim. “But if they did do a slug one I would _for sure_ wear that!”

Yaz watches her mum and dad look a little perplexed at that but it fills her with amusement, not trepidation. They know Jo, and they like her, and Yaz can see her mum’s maternal streak already stretching to her partner, too, especially after hearing about River and the tribulations for Jo that had caused. Yaz has told her to lay off showing how much she pities the other woman for it, but she is very welcome to her mum caring for Jo just as much as she does for her.

“Well, we’re very much looking forward to seeing your cottage and the village.” Najia draws the conversation back to their trip. All three of the Khans are coming down for Cornwall for the new year, although Sonya is coming a little later than Najia and Hakim. It will be there first trip, and both Jo and Yaz are a mixture of excited and nervous; Jo because she is desperate to make a good impression and prove she is good enough for their daughter, although there really is no need, and Yaz because she wants her parents’ approval, again not because it is needed but because she cares about their knowing she is happy, especially after how her teenage years had panned out, and how secretive she had been about herself then. This is a sign of progress.

“We’re looking forward to it, too.” Yaz says, speaking for the both of them. “And we’re popping around to Bill’s on Sunday to make sure everything is ready for you there.”

They have decided it would be best for the Khans to stay in Bill’s vacant cottage, Yaz’s best friend back in Sheffield once more. Their own cottage is simply too small to host all of them, and it would have been very close quarters with everyone needing their own space.

“I can’t wait to see it.” Najia says. “Although can’t say I’m looking forward to seven hours in the car with your father and his Spotify playlist.”

Yaz laughs at Hakim’s affronted expression. “Well, I promise you the destination will be totally worth it, mum. Wont’ it, Jo?”

“What? Yes, absolutely!” Jo says, trying to sound as enthusiastic as she can, as if trying to sell Cornwall to Najia and Hakim. “Lots of sand, lots of sea, lots of… rocks.” She falters, and Yaz shoots her a bemused look out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, I look forward to the rocks.” Najia says, nodding.

“Just wrap up warm.” Yaz advises. “It’s been really snowy here…”

This leads them into a conversation about the snow, and then Yaz’s work, and then finally they are waving goodbye and disconnecting. Yaz closes the laptop lid and leans back against the sofa, turning to Jo in amusement. “’Lots of rocks’?”

Jo winces. “I panicked.” She sighs, turning to lean against the sofa too and face Yaz. “I want them to see how amazing it is here, and how amazing you are down here, and our life… I don’t want them to think I’m not…”

“Not good enough for me.” Yaz finishes for her. She reaches forward, playing with the soft felt Santa hat on Jo’s jumper as she comforts her partner. “Jo, they already think you’re fantastic. They already approve. Thoroughly. And besides, even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t make me love you less.”

“Thank you.” Jo thanks her, relaxing against the cushions. “Parents just make me… nervous.”

“They do everyone, babe, don’t worry.” Yaz says. “But mine love ya. I promise.” 

* * *

“Yaz, careful.”

“I am being careful.”

“Don’t put your hand there. No, not- Yes, there, that’s good!”

“You feel okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just stretching my leg a bit weird. Let me just-”

“Ow! Who just kicked me?”

“Sorry, that were me!”

“Jo! You clumsy oaf!”

“I couldn’t do it in the position I was in, I had to move!”

“Well, now I’ve got your arse in my face.”

“Sorry, Yaz, but it won’t work if you don’t have my arse in your face.”

“Rory, just spin the spinner!” Amy cries, shifting a little where she stands, legs spread and one hand down on a green circle, the other up in the air. Jo’s leg is slotted through hers, and she is similarly bent over, although with both hands down on the Twister mat. And poor Yaz has Jo’s backside directly in her face whilst she has one hand slotted between her legs and is crouching down.

Lucky Rory had shot-gunned spinning the Twister board before anyone else could.

They are in the centre of Yaz and Jo’s living room, the coffee table pushed to the side and the Twister mat spread out across the floor. The fire crackles in the hearth, the Christmas lights twingle and glow, and music plays quietly in the background. The afternoon has ticked on since Amy and Rory had arrived just after midday, and they have spent it eating and chatting and playing board games, Jo insisting on Twister after Yaz had beat her so brutally at Cluedo. It has been incredibly pleasant to spend time with the couple together, and Yaz knows how important it is for Jo to spend a day meant for family and loved ones with her two best friends, and she finds herself aglow with happiness, too.

“Amy, right hand blue.” Rory directs.

“ _Right hand blue?!”_ Amy splutters. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“What the board says, you must do.” Rory shrugs, watching his wife with amusement.

Amy huffs, but she does attempt to move her right hand to the nearest blue circle. However, in the process of doing so, she knocks Jo’s leg and, ever clumsy, the other woman topples over, right into Yaz, who falls to the floor, Jo’s body slamming into her own a moment after.

“Oof!”

“Sorry, Yaz!” Jo apologises, peering down at her, the weight on her torso heavy.

“Right, that’s it, no more games, I’m putting the kettle on!” Amy declares, standing and brushing herself off, heading for their kitchen. Rory shoots Yaz and Jo a sheepish grin and follows after his wife, placing the Twister board down on the coffee table.

“Well, that could have gone worse.” Jo comments, clambering off of Yaz so that the other woman can raise herself into a sitting position. Yaz runs a hand through her now mussed up hair.

“Could it?” She asks dubiously.

“You should have seen the game we played second year of uni.” Jo tells her, holding out a hand to help Yaz to her feet. “I fell on Rory and he sort of got pushed into doing splits… and he couldn’t really do the splits and he landed on his… anyway, safe to say he won’t go near the mat again.”

Yaz laughs at poor Rory’s expense. “Explains his keenness to be the one spinning the board.”

“Oh, it’s gone dark.” Jo says, attention caught by the dimming light outside the windows. Her eyes widen and she looks to the clock on the mantelpiece. “Oh! Yaz, quick, the Call the Midwife Christmas Special is on in a minute!”

“Didn’t know you were so keen to watch it.” Yaz says, slumping down on the sofa as Jo grabs for the remote. In the kitchen Amy and Rory and managing the tea, entwined in each other, laughing and smiling, and Yaz has the passing thought she should really be doing that, seeing as its her and Jo’s cottage, but she knows the couple will not mind, that such formalities do not need to exist between close family like this. “I know Graham was absolutely hyped for it, so I’m sure he and Grace are watching. Probably forcing Ryan to, too.”

“It’s comforting.” Jo states as she sits herself down next to Yaz. “There’s drama and something bad always happens but, at the end of the day, everyone is happy, and everyone is together.”

Yaz smiles at her, shifting until their bodies are pressed closely against each other. Their eyes lock, and between them an unspoken but understood thought is shared. Jo’s words might focus on the fictional, but they allude to the real-life circumstances of their life, too. They hold a promise and a hope, and the closeness of their bodies speaks that final comfort, the resolution. Yaz presses her lips to Jo’s. Together.

“Oh, no, not the baby programme.” Amy says, coming into the room with tray of teas in hand, completely breaking the soft atmosphere of the moment. Yaz and Jo break away with a smile.

“It’s a fantastic piece of drama.” Jo retorts to Amy. “We _have_ to watch it.”

Half an hour later, she is fast asleep with her head on Yaz’s shoulder.

Yaz smiles, and she rests her cheek atop Jo’s head and allows herself to simply sit and idly watch the television screen as time slips away, in the company of her second family, the warm comfort of the fire, of her home, of her partner. Time can tick away if it likes, this day is for them and for them only, and if they are to spend it lazily lying entwined on the sofa then that sounds like the perfect expenditure.

Amy rolls her eyes when she notices Jo snoring lightly.

“It’s been a long day.” Yaz says explains to her, carefully plucking Jo’s mug from her fingers before she accidentally spills and places it on the coffee table before drawing her partner nearer.

It’s been a long year, too, and now that the end is nearing, Yaz can see and feel inside of her just how much it has changed her irrevocably. But with her partner who she loves more than anything in the world asleep on her shoulder, a warm fire crackling in the heart of her home, surrounded by people she cares for and who care for her in return, she would not change it for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Also I haven't seen Call the Midwife in years so I have no clue what the Christmas specials are like! So there will be a new years based instalment next, I'll aim for Wednesday but my life is a mess so it might be later! At least the special is soon! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	7. New Year's (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Khans arrive for New Year's at Kennock Cove...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm sorry this is a month late, life hasn't been great at the moment, and I've had horrific writer's block. I decided to split it into two parts so I could get something else because the guilt was getting crazy, so I hope you enjoy this! Also I haven't really read it through so if you see any typos, etc. I do apologise!

Light wind slithers snake-like throughout the houses and cottages of Kennock Cove, a gentle touch to stone and brick flesh. It is never quiet in the village, for the waves always beat against rock and fall against sand and make cacophony in their doing so, but human activity is to a minimum. No voice speaks nor hums nor sings. Only the birds occupy the early morning with their song. Gentle and delicate in piercing the air.

“Shit!”

“Yaz? You okay?” Jo calls from downstairs as Yaz grumbles under her breath, shaking her injured thumb back and forth as she rides through the immediate shock of pain.

“Fine!” She calls back, a little breathless from the shock. “Just trapped my finger in the _bloody_ wardrobe door!”

“Nasty!” Jo calls back, and Yaz hears the sound of movement as she resumes her tidying.

“Why did we think this was a good idea?” Yaz mutters to herself, pushing her hair back from her face.

It is barely eight in the morning, and she and Jo have already been at work for half an hour in preparing Bill’s cottage for the arrival of her parents later in the day. They had dedicated themselves to getting up bright and early for the task, reasoning that if they were to finish it in the morning, they would have the afternoon to clean themselves up and spend some time relaxing together before the inevitable arrival of her parents later on. she is desperately looking forward to their arrival, but at the same time Yaz knows the next few days will be full on and she and Jo will barely have a moment together just… _them._

She is beginning to regret that decision now, thumb smarting and weariness clinging to her limbs. Still, she shakes herself, and resigned that the task _must_ be done, continues her gathering of fresh sheets for the bed.

Fifteen minutes later Yaz is taking a step back, sweaty and a little out of breath, two beds in two bedrooms freshly made. _Good work, Khan._

Then there is a smashing noise from downstairs.

“Oh no.” She mutters under her breath, heading swiftly down the stairs on socked feet to find the cause of the clamour. 

Jo is stood in the kitchen, broom in hand, staring down at the smashed remains of a vase on the slate kitchen floor. Between scattered shards of glass lie the remains of the beautiful bouquet of flowers Yaz had bought for her parents, knowing her mother would appreciate the touch. Petals are strewn, water creeping over delicate roses and lilies.

Well, there is thirty pounds down the drain.

Jo looks to her guiltily, nose scrunched up as she winces. “Whoops.” 

* * *

“Yaz!”

“Mum!” Yaz flings herself into her mother’s arms, being embraced in that familiar maternal warmth and smell. She sinks her nose into her mother’s shoulder, letting the older woman twist them to and fro for a moment before she steps back, taking Yaz’s face in her hands and inspecting her.

“You look well, sweetheart!”

“I’ve missed you!” Yaz says, allowing her mum to stroke her cheeks for a moment. Her mother’s eyes are bright, although slightly tired from the long car journey, but the sight of them, looking at Yaz with such love, has her insides flaring with warm flames of comfort. They stay like that for a moment before Najia releases Yaz to embrace her father.

Hakim is warm and smells slightly musty from the car, but the smell is so distinctively _his_ that Yaz finds herself squeezing tighter for just a moment, suddenly feeling like a child again.

“Alright dad?”

“I’m alright, love. Although, my back aches.” Her dad says, stretching his back out once they break apart. “You know, I’m sure they make them that way on purpose. Some kind of-”

“Conspiracy.” Yaz and Najia finish for him, Najia sending Yaz a withering look as Yaz smirks.

“Anyway, where’s Jo?” Najia asks, rubbing her hands together to warm them against the bitter wind blowing. The weather had taken a turn for the worse throughout the day. They are stood outside of Bill’s property, and with the sun setting in the late afternoon it is getting harder to see the awe-inspiring backdrop of sea and earth that surrounds them, but Najia’s inquisitive eyes look around her in interest.

“She’s back at our cottage. Making a start on dinner.” Yaz explains.

“Ah, right. I’m very excited to see it Yaz!” Najia says, and she loops her arm through her daughter’s, steering her in the direction of the cottage. “Now, this looks lovely. Show me inside. Hak, bring the bags.”

“Right.” Hakim says with a sigh but does not protest, heading for the boot of the car as Yaz clicks the front door open and leads her mother inside.

Najia oo’s and ahh’s appropriately as Yaz gives her a quick tour, thoroughly impressed with the kitchen and the bunch of flowers Yaz had managed to salvage from Jo’s earlier accident.

When they get to the master bedroom, Hakim following on behind them with the suitcases in tow, Najia heads to the window after an impressive nod at the bed, peering out, trying to discern what she can in the darkness.

“I can’t wait to see the place, Yaz. The pictures you’ve sent make it look gorgeous.”

Yaz joins her at the window. Past their watery reflections she can see the Christmas lights still hanging up in the village glinting below, as well as the Christmas tree. The silhouetted and shadowy shapes of the building loom beyond.

“Well, we’ve got a full itinerary planned.” She jokes. “Jo’s offered to do one of her tours for you n’all.”

“Oh, fantastic!” Najia says, genuinely. Behind them Hakim also makes a noise of delight. She looks to her daughter. “Have you got to work any days, darling?”

“Wednesday,” Yaz says apologetically. “But I’ve got the other days off! I’ll be there for when Sonya gets here. Unless I’m called into the coastguard.”

A shiver travels through Najia’s body at the mention of the coastguard. Yaz knows her mother is less than happy about Yaz joining and putting herself in more danger than she might potentially face as a police officer, but she has remained silent in her displeasure and respected Yaz’s wishes, and so Yaz respects her mother’s concern in turn. Well, what does she expect, for Najia _not_ to be worried?

There is the sound of a long sigh, the sort of bemoaning groan only a dad can make, and the sound of the bed springs creaking as Hakim sits down on the edge, bouncing up and down a couple of times.

“Oh, good springs on this, very bouncy.” Hakim says approvingly.

Yaz’s feels her cheeks flush red and she is reminded she had a very similar thought months back when she and Jo had used the bed for… something other than sleeping. She had forgotten about that, and how her parents would now be sleeping in it. _Oh stars above._

“Shall we get going down to mine?” She says, already heading for the door. “I know Jo’s nervous, let’s not keep her waiting too much longer.”

“She has no need to be nervous.” Najia says as she follows her daughter to the doorway. Hakim raises himself off the bed with another upheave of a sigh.

“She knows, but she is. I am, too.” Yaz admits. “It’s important to both of us you see how much living down here works for us. And she’s keen to impress you, to show you how happy she makes me.”

“She doesn’t need to show me, we’ve already seen it.” Najia comments. “And you’ve told her she can call me Najia, yes? Not ‘Yaz’s mum’.”

Yaz laughs as she begins to lead them towards the staircase, Hakim switching off the bedroom light as they depart. “Yeah.” She stops abruptly on the stairs as a thought occurs to her, meaning Najia jolts into her and Hakim into Najia. She looks up at her parents, eyes serious. “You guys have been so amazing with Jo, welcoming her into our family. So… if we could focus on that, and not on the past, or anything like that, that would be good. You remember what I told you? ‘Bout her past and stuff?”

Najia nods. When organising this trip a couple of months ago, Najia had raised the question with Yaz of whether Jo’s parents would be coming to visit, too, and Yaz had informed her of Jo’s past. Obviously, she had not given her all the details, only knowing little things herself, which is fine by her: Jo’s past is her own and whatever she wants to share with Yaz she will gladly carry, and whatever she does not Yaz respects, too. But she had told Najia then Jo has no parents and does not like to speak of her childhood, and so if they could avoid that subject during their stay that would be very good, thank you very much.

“I know, love.” Najia remembers. “We won’t bring anything up.”

Yaz nods her thanks at the both of them and continues their descent down the staircase, reassured she has set those boundaries in concrete.

“Besides, I’m sure your dad is itching to talk her ear off about conspiracies and the like.” Najia comments as they make it to the front door.

“I’m afraid to say Jo would _love_ that.” Yaz says good naturedly, turning the latch on the front door and pulling it open. Gusty winds hammers against their bodies the moment she does.

“Ah, see, you’ve made an excellent choice in partner there, Yaz.” Hakim says, and Yaz allows herself a moment of soppiness, with her back turned to her parents as they head out into the bitter winter cold.

“Yes, I have.” 

* * *

The sound of the door opening makes Jo jump and she accidentally slops some sauce over the side of the saucepan as she stirs it perhaps a little too vigorously. She had insisted on cooking whilst Yaz met her parents. It would give her something to do and allow Yaz to reunite on her own. Jo needed something to do, nerves overcoming her, and in the past, when she could summon the energy, cooking, even if she never really ate what she had made by the end, had allowed her a mindless escape into action, not thought.

Now, she feels her heart begin to race as she hears the sounds of feet entering, Yaz speaking, and she takes a deep breath before she steps away from the hob, turning it right down as she does, and heads for the front room.

“Hi, Yaz’s mum! Hi, Yaz’s dad!” She greets, waving perhaps a little too energetically.

Najia and Hakim’s wandering eyes land on her as she speaks, looking open mouthed as they take in her and Yaz’s home, and Jo beams broadly to smother her nerves.

“Welcome to mine and Yaz’s _maison!_ Well, actually, it’s more of a _petit maison,_ on account of it being a cottage! And a terraced one at that! Although, the walls are really thick, which is lucky because I know that Mrs Howeth next door can get _really_ \- actually, you don’t want to know about that, it’s not important. Anyway, welcome!”

“Thank you, sweetheart!” Najia says in a bemused but also affectionate way. She steps forward, and before Jo knows it, she is being swept into a hug. She tenses for a moment before she sinks into it, trying her best to keep her dirty apron away from Najia’s front. It feels… nice, the sort of hug that makes you feel like you have taken shelter in a warm cove, away from the wind and the rain.

“Sorry, I’m a bit saucy.” She says. She frowns as Najia pulls away, considering her words. “No- wait. Hang on. That’s not what I meant.”

Najia laughs, “Yaz told us you were cooking dinner.”

“Yes! Yes I am!” Jo says, clapping her hands together. “Mushroom with a cheese sauce, if that’s alright. With garlic bread, made freshly by Amy!”

Najia’s eyebrows raise in delight at that and Hakim claps his hands together in anticipation. 

“Oh, that’s nothing.” Jo tells them. “Wait until you taste her pain au chocolat.”

“Shall I get some drinks?” Yaz asks, moving past them and placing her hand briefly to Jo’s side.

“Yes, good idea, Yaz!” Jo says. She catches Yaz’s eyes as she moves past her and, with Najia and Hakim none the wiser, Yaz mouths ‘coats’ to her and sends her an encouraging nod. “Ah, right, coats. Shall I take your coats? I mean, you can keep them on if you want to, but with the fire going in here you might be likely to overheat, so I wouldn’t recomm-”

“Thank you, love.” Najia tells her as she shuffles out of her coat. Jo takes it with a polite, close-lipped smile, and Najia moves past her, further into the room, admiring their decorations, the picture of Kynance Cove over the fireplace.

Hakim hands his coat to Jo with an appreciative smile and says, “Yaz told us you’re going to give us one of your historic tours one day?”

“Yes.” Jo nods as she hangs the Khans’ coat on the hooks by the door. “I was thinking Wednesday, seeing as Yaz is working that day. I mean, that is if you want to. I don’t mind if not. And I can always alter it if you’d like to show you-”

“No, love, please, we’d be delighted if you would.” Hakim encourages with a smile, and Jo brings herself to meet his eye at that moment, and she is immediately put at ease by the soft, caramel warmth in them. She immediately relaxes, now that they have arrived and the first greetings have been done, and gone well, although maybe she has spoken too much. Najia and Hakim do not seem to mind, though, and Jo feels her adrenaline eek away like the tide leaving the shore.

She should have expected nothing less from the parents of Yasmin Khan. 

* * *

After a dinner spent with discussions of the Khans’ journey, Yaz’s work and compliments over Jo’s cooking, Jo finds herself in the front room, soaking up the heat of the fire, glass of raspberry cordial in hand whilst Yaz washes up with her dad. She sees the two of them, joking around as they clatter dishes, Yaz’s head tipped back as she laughs loudly at something her dad has said. Jo smiles. She looks beautiful, and the sight of the two of them joking around together fills her with a sense of happiness and sadness in turn, and odd combination. She tries to dispel it with a sip of her cordial.

“Is that River?” A voice from behind her says, and Jo jumps and turns to see Najia approaching, her own drink in hand, looking at the pictures on their mantelpiece. Tucked behind their garland is the picture of River she had picked out when they were moving in. Her hair bounces and her mouth smiles wide in that knowing way only she could do, eyes glinting.

“Yeah.” Jo affirms, clearing her throat. “Yeah, that’s River.”

“That’s lovely, that you have her picture up in here.” Najia says, kind eyes watching Jo carefully, but without pressure.

“Your daughter….” Jo says, lost for words, shaking her head in incomprehension. She looks to Najia, eyes alight with wonder, speckled with stardust. “I’ve never known anyone…. She has a certain kind of kindness. Of love. I never thought, well, when I first came here, I was running away from all of that, the love and kindness that had been taken from me, and I wasn’t sure I was ever going to find any ever again. And then she came along.”

“Yaz has always been caring, almost to a fault.” Najia says. She steps closer, puts a hand on Jo’s arm, smiling kindly. “But I think with you she has no fear, and neither do I, of that kindness being perverted or taken advantage of. You really love her, don’t you?”

“I do.” Jo says, and she can feel her throat closing up. Old guilt courses through her like a rusty arrow, and she takes a sip of her drink. “And there was a time when I did throw it all back in her face, when I thought that that was the best thing to do, that I wasn’t worthy of how much kindness and love she has to give, but I see now how wrong I was, and how wrong I was also to doubt that Yaz would not see I didn’t act out of true feelings. I did it because I thought I needed to… turns out I needed her love a lot more.”

Najia shoots her a sad smile, and Jo knows Yaz had told them all about their incident in the summer, part of why she had been so nervous to meet them back then, and possibly feeding as a residual into the nervousness she has felt running up to this trip. “We all need love, sweetheart. No one should ever think themselves undeserving.”

Jo clears her throat again, swallowing her tears and hiding her eyes as she takes a long gulp of her drink. Najia gaze strays to her daughter, laughing her head off as she slops washing liquid bubbles on Hakim’s cheek.

“She needs your love, too, Jo.” Najia tells her, and Jo turns her gaze back towards her. “She wasn’t happy before she came here, bit like you. Different, but similar. She’d thought she’d had love, with that Clara girl, but it didn’t turn out to be, and with how work was going for her….” Najia shrugs, eyes drifting to the fire, watching the flames. “I was worried for her. But now she has all _this,_ and even from what I’ve seen of the place tonight and from the skyping and pictures, I can just _tell_ she’s happy here. That this is where she’s meant to be. As a mother, that is a great relief!”

Jo feels relief herself, like a punch to the face, and she lets out a shaky breath. To have Najia’s approval in words like that is what Jo has been needing. Not because it’s _needed_ in itself, but because she always wants to do the best by Yaz, would never want her to feel unhappy.

“Maybe this is where all the sad people come.” Jo says wistfully, blaming the exhaustion from the early start and the nerves. “Looking for happiness and they don’t even know it.” 

* * *

“We did good tonight, babe.” Yaz murmurs into her pillow that night, their room darkened, curtains pulled, both of them snuggled beneath the covers.

“Hmm. Talked your parents’ ears off, that’s for sure.” Jo replies, hair covering her face, half disappeared beneath the duvet. She peels an eye open and looks to Yaz, who is lying facing her. “Your mum, she told me that could tell this was the right place for you the moment she stepped into our house.”

“Did she?” This wakes Yaz up a bit, and she opens her eyes, finding Jo staring at her. She smiles lazily, reaching for Jo’s hand under the sheets. “To think we cleaned Bill’s whole cottage out for nothing.”

Jo laughs, a low, tired rumble in her throat. A yawn follows soon after, and she smashes her face further into the sheets. “They’ve still got to see the village and everything. Just hope they like the smell of seaweed.”

“We taking them to Amy and Rory’s?” Yaz asks her.

Jo scoffs. “Obviously. You think Amy would let us take them anywhere else?”

Yaz smirks at that. “Good point.” There is a pause, both women on the cusp of something, something which could go completely different ways. Sleep or… “Jo?”

“Hmm?”

“You wanna…?” Yaz asks, lightly grazing the skin of Jo’s hand with her fingers. Jo’s head perks up at the suggestiveness in her voice, shivers at Yaz’s light touch.

“If you do?” She asks.

“I do.” Yaz tells her, moving her hand from Jo’s hand, lower, to her waistband. Her fingers skirt the fabric, and Jo’s breath catches in her throat.

“Yeah,” the other woman says, and then her breath is catching as Yaz’s hand disappears below her waistband and she lets out a long sigh. “Brilliant!” 

* * *

“And that is where Yaz fell off her surfboard and bruised her ribs!” Jo says, pointing out the precise spot on the beach where Yaz had, all those months ago, desperately trying not to embarrass herself in front of Jo, accidentally fallen from her surfboard and injured herself. Her cheeks flush a little at the remembrance.

“Well, the good news is I’ve gotten much better with the surfboard now.” She cuts in, hand moving through the air assertively, slicing through the gusty wind which blows through the air as she does. “It’s a requirement for coastguard training. If we’re on the beach but don’t have time to get the boat out, or the incident is small enough, you have to use a surfboard.”

“I’ve seen her do it, she’s excellent.” Jo says to Yaz’s parents, nodding approvingly, sending her a wince of an apology at the mention of Yaz’s blunder. Yaz shoots her a wink back, reassuring her it is fine.

“Must be freezing, Yaz!” Hakim says, looking out from the beach at the choppy waters. The day is overcast and blustery, not the most pleasant of weather, but classically wintery and classically Cornish. If Yaz wanted her parents to get the real experience, they sure are getting it. All four of them are bundled up in coats and scarves and gloves, Yaz desperately trying to tame her hair by pulling it into a braid, but wispy bits keep escaping.

Yaz shrugs. “Not too bad, I get a whole protective and buoyant kit, so I’m very well protected. Definitely not as bad as those New Year’s Day swims we used to do in the Humber!”

Hakim smiles at that as Najia groans in reluctant remembrance of those early morning drives to have a dip in freezing cold water for all of five minutes. “Oh yeah! I’m guessing you’re not going to be wanting to do it this year here, are you?”

Yaz scoffs, which makes Jo laugh. “Fat chance.”

“Well, I have to say, girls, it really is lovely here.” Najia says, even as she crosses her arms closer across her body, ducking her head to protected herself from the wind. They are the only people out on the harbour besides a few of the weather-hardened fisherman of the village, who stroll as if there is nothing unpleasant about the wind which bites with sharp teeth at their skin. “But maybe we could get inside into somewhere warmer? I could do with a cuppa as well.”

“Tea with Yaz’s mum? Brilliant!” Jo says, turning on her heel and walking backwards towards the buildings lining the harbour front, the glinting of the gold lettering on the front of Pond’s Pastries looking like a safe haven behind her. “And I know just the place!”

The bell chimes as they enter the Ponds’ café, and Yaz lets out a long breath as she immediately feels heat caress against her cheeks. She turns, ready to greet whoever is behind the counter, but stops when she notices the faces staring at them.

Jack beams from where he is leant against the counter, Ryan next to him with his hands in his pockets. Grace and Graham are sat at a table, pot of tea between them, kind and inquisitive eyes looking up at them. Amy and Rory are behind the counter, and Martha is perched on a chair in the corner, large slice of cake in front of her.

“Oh, bloody hell…” Yaz mutters under her breath. Of _course_ everyone had to be gathered in the café right when they were visiting. Almost as if they had been written to be there. Although, she knows Jo had told Amy and Rory they were coming for lunch, so she has a suspicion that they had _planned_ this, the sods.

“Hi, everyone!” Jo says, delighted as she unwinds her scarf from her neck, walking further into the shop. “Fancy seeing you all here.”

 _Yeah, fancy…_ Yaz thinks.

“Yaz’s parents are here!” She announces, as if that was not obvious and as if she had not texted and told everyone about it weeks in advance. She steps to the side, heading for one of the tables by the window with a ‘reserved’ sign place upon it, allowing Najia and Hakim to step further into the space and greet the faces which peer up at them.

“Hello, everyone.” Najia says, looking a little perplexed as to why all other faces in the café are turned to her. Ryan waves his hand in a wave, Grace and Graham both recline their heads, but is Jack, _of course,_ who swans forward, taking Najia’s hand.

“My name is Captain Jack Harkness, ma’am.” He says, and Yaz fights the urge to roll her eyes, unzipping her coat. “I’m your daughter’s coxswain. That means boss upon the boat. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh,” Najia says with a pleased smile, shaking Jack’s hand. “Her boss at the coastguard?”

Jack nods. “That’s right.”

“Well, then,” Najia says, and Yaz tenses as she hears a very familiar tone in her mum’s voice. It is the same tone she used when Najia first met Clara, when they first started dating and things got serious. Almost like a… warning. “You should know that if anything happens to my daughter when she is under your jurisdiction upon that boat, or at sea, then I will be holding you responsible.”

 _“Mum!”_ Yaz hisses, embarrassed and frustrated.

“Understood, ma’am.” Jack says, nodding, completely serious as he hears Najia’s warning. His eyes flick from Najia to Hakim, who is also stood looking in surprise at his wife, and nods at him, too. “But you should know your daughter is very competent, an excellent team member. She was saving lives before I even suggested she should be part of the coastguard.”

Najia smiles, satisfied, and lets go of Jack’s hand. “That’s my Yaz.”

“Alright, now you’ve stopped interrogating my boss can we please get lunch?” Yaz says, steering her parents in the direction of the table Jo is stood by, looking a little wide-eyed and open mouthed. Najia allows herself to go, and Yaz furiously gestures her head in Rory’s direction, and he grabs for some menus, making his way over. With her parents back turned, Yaz glares at the collective group and mouths ‘what the hell’, to which Ryan shrugs and Graham and Grace laugh.

From that point onward, lunch is, thankfully, not as eventful, and in fact Yaz is relieved by the end that their friends have congregated in the café, as it allows her parents to see that they are not only surrounded by natural beauty and a cosy village, but also kind and friendly company. Grace and Graham get to chatting with Najia and Hakim, even moving their table closer so that they don’t have to talk across the space between the tables, which allows Yaz and Jo to have a moment of relative privacy, Jo smiling at her from across the table as she shoves pain au chocolat in her mouth.

“I shouldn’t have told Amy we were coming.” She says with a wince.

Yaz shakes her head. “No, don’t worry, it’s fine, we didn’t know they were going to… _assemble._ ”

Jo smirks, but her eyes are soft as she looks around the room, at the bubbling conversation, at the chattering of Yaz’s parents to their friends and Kennock Cove family. “Still, I think it’s worked out for the best, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do.” Yaz agrees, taking a bite of her own lunch, a scone with cream and jam. “This was a brilliant idea.” 

* * *

“This was a terrible idea!” Yaz shouts at Jo over the roar of the boat engine an hour later, hair well and truly messed up as the wind blows a gale around them.

“Yep, getting that now!” Jo shouts back, hands clutching tight as the boat cuts across waves, forging a path through their furious thundering.

Jo had decided it might be a good idea for them to take the Khans on a boat tour of the local coastline after lunch, a service usually only offered in the summertime, but Jo had managed to convince the boat’s owner they should let them go out in the middle of winter; Yaz is fairly sure her partner had given him some alcohol as payment.

Now, however, with the wind battering them and the choppy waters bringing them higher and higher up on the swell, only for the boat to come crashing down on the waves with a _slam_ which jolts them all unpleasantly, Yaz has come to conclusion this was not the best idea, especially not after lunch. The man, however, had looked too grumpy that Jo had dragged him out onto the harbour for them to refuse the tour.

“Look!” Jo shouts, trying to bring order to chaos as she points at something in the distance, a large rock which sits prominently out at sea. “That’s Gull Rock by Trebarwith Strand! It’s a very prominent landmark here- well, _sea_ mark. Do you know why it’s called ‘Gull Rock’?”

“Because there are gulls on it?” Najia shouts, sounding a little miserable as she closes her eyes as they are jolted once again in the surf.

“Yes! That’s right!” Jo says, her enthusiasm dampening as her clothing does. She looks a little awkward as she says, “Well, that’s all I know about it.”

They sit with only the roaring of the engine and beating of the waves against the boat for a moment, no one quite knowing what to say, all of them trying not to lose their stomachs. Yaz glances up at their helmsman, his face caught in disgruntled boredom.

“Well,” She mutters under her own breath, words lost to the cacophony around them, only her knowing they are being spoken. “Something had to go wrong.” 

* * *

“This really is something else, Yaz.” Najia says as she stares across at the horizon from their place upon the coastline, watching as a weak sun reluctantly peeks through waning clouds, light diluted and waxy. It is later in the day, they had all of them recovered from their boat trip with a cup of tea at Yaz and Jo’s, and now Jo is preparing with dinner with Hakim whilst Yaz has taken her mum for a walk along the coastline, spending some time alone with her. The wind has died down, losing its energy as the day fades and night prepares to fall, and Yaz feels content, her and her mum, looking at the horizon together.

“You should see it in summer.” Yaz says, seeing the view through fresh eyes as she sees her mother’s amazement. “Well, you will. You’ll be coming in back in the summer, right?”

“Oh, try and stop me!” Najia says. She glances at Yaz out of the corner of her eye. “And the spring, too, if you’ll have me. I don’t want to be overbearing or too needy but… I do miss you, Yaz.”

Yaz turns to her mum with a sad smile on her face. “’Course it’s alright. I miss you, too, all of you, so much. Even Sonya.”

Najia smiles at that, turning to face her daughter. Motherly wisdom twinkles in her eyes and Yaz feels that immediate warmth, as if her mother has embraced her without even touching her. “Who’d have thought we’d find ourselves here, eh? Cornwall. I think you were the first of our family to ever come here.”

Yaz smiles at that. “Only because Nani wouldn’t leave Sheffield for any amount of money.”

Najia laughs. “No, no you’re right. So wonderfully brave your grandmother, but when she found her home eventually she knew she would never live anywhere else. I’ve always thought you were the most like her, and I think this case is no exception. This place really is home to you now, isn’t it?”

Yaz nods. “It really is. I love it here.” She smiles at her mum. “But it don’t mean I love Sheffield any less.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Najia says, reaching forward to tuck a strand of flyaway hair behind Yaz’s ear. “You’ve just found something new, here, something that has helped you flourish. You really are, darling, to look at you. Flourishing.”

Yaz’s smile grows wider, and tears prick her eyes, but there is no wind to blame them on, now, they are all from the emotion of the moment. “I feel like I am, mum. I feel so… happy.”

“It’s done you a world of good.” Najia says. “And that’s why I’ll need to keep coming back, because I’m your mum and I’m selfish and I want to share in your happiness.”

Yaz laughs, head tipping back into the waxing sun. “I give you permission to share when you need to. Just… don’t be overbearing!” She adds jokingly.

“When am I ever overbearing?” Najia asks in affront.

Yaz smirks. “How about the café earlier? With Jack?”

“Oh, that’s not overbearing, darling, that’s just protecting your own. Besides, I liked him.” Najia says, her voice purring a little as she smiles. “I mean I _really_ liked him.”

Yaz’s eyes widen. “Mum!” She says, affronted.

“Nice arms.” Najia says, nodding approvingly.

“Right, that’s it, I’m off!” Yaz says, turning to head back towards the village. “Besides, Dad and Jo will have dinner done soon enough.”

“What is she making?” Najia asks as she relents and eases off on the teasing. Yaz waits until she has fallen into step beside her before she begins to lead them off the coastal path.

“Not sure.” Yaz says, a little apprehensive. She and Najia share a cautious look. “And with dad helping her.”

“Maybe we should consider a take away as a backup.” Najia suggests, and Yaz nods, quickening her pace as they had back into the village.

When they return to the cottage, warmth seeping into their bones, they are instantly greeted with the sound of two voices raised in animated conversation. Najia raises her eyebrows as she and Yaz share a look, and once she has hung up her coat and scarf and scuffed off her boots, Yaz pads through into the kitchen with no small amount of trepidation.

“Hi- oh my god, what’s happened here?!” She says, staring wide eyed and open mouthed at their kitchen. There is flour… everywhere. Peppering their slate tiled floor, the kitchen cabinets, some, bizarrely, on the ceiling, but most of it is over the countertops and Jo and Hakim’s fronts as they talk and laugh. Jo is stood at the hob, watching something sizzling in the pan, pans bubbling away, steam rising, whilst Hakim works at something in a bowl with his hands. Yaz sniffs the air, picking up familiar scents. Onion, chilli…

Pakora.

Of course. What else?

“Yaz!” Jo says, noticing her partner as she breaks off her conversation with Hakim. “Did you have a nice walk?”

“Oh my god!” Najia exclaims as she joins Yaz in the doorway, looking around in surprise at the mess of the kitchen. Yaz can see onion and vegetable peel strewn across the countertops along with the flour, a sauce of some kind also adding to the mix. It is also on Jo’s cheek, and she adds flour to it as she wipes the back of her sleeve across her skin.

“Hello, Yaz’s mum!” Jo exclaims, turning her attention back to her pan, poking at the pakora with a slotted turner. “Did _you_ have a nice walk?”

“Err, yes, thanks, love. What’s-”

“We’re making my traditional.” Hakim tells his wife as he wipes his hands off on the front of his apron. “Beef pilaf, with a side of pakora!”

Yaz and Najia can only nod, taken aback by the chaos.

“Your girlfriend is brilliant, Yaz!” Hakim tells them as he reaches for a spoon, stirring what Yaz assumes is rice in the bubbling pot. “We’ve been discussing all sorts of conspiracy theories.”

“Oh, I bet.” Yaz says, amused, beginning to laugh at the sight of her partner and her dad making a mess in the kitchen as they cook dinner, getting on in a way that just seems so… _them._ They are getting on, and her mother is happy she is down here, is happy she is happy _here,_ and then it is like everything is falling into place, and Yaz’s smile grows wider and wider until it is from ear to ear. Jo gives her a questioning look as Yaz smiles and smiles, and Yaz thinks she looks so beautiful in that moment, with flour and sauce smeared across her face, hair tied up in a messy ponytail as she cooks.

And everything just feels so… serene, even as their kitchen is in chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, I know Sonya didn't turn up but she'll be in the next part, promise!   
> Also, I know I've got a lot of comments to reply to which I haven't got round to yet so I'm going to dedicate some time tomorrow to going through and replying to them all!   
> Thank you for reading, if you'd like to leave a comment and/or kudos that would really make my day! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	8. New Year's (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonya joins the fam as they bring in the New Year in Kennock Cove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this one is alright, I really wanted to get it finished because it's so overdue so I haven't properly spell checked or anything for sorry for any mistakes!   
> Also, slight NSFW warning in the last bit- nothing too much, basically they're playing Cards Against Humanity!

“You’ll be fine, babe.” Yaz reassures Jo as she bends to press a kiss to her lips. “And remember, Sonya is going to be here about five.”

Jo nods, looking up from her place at the kitchen table, half-eaten piece of toast discarded on her plate. Yaz adjusts her work jacket, patting herself down to make sure she has everything she needs before she gives a satisfied nod. “You’ll be back before then?”

Yaz nods. “With a bit of luck. Donna knows my parents are here, so she says she’s happy for me to leave early, but I’ll text you if anything comes up.”

Jo nods again, and Yaz gives her a smile as she notices the tense line of Jo’s shoulders. “It’s going to be great. _You’ll_ be great, I know you will. I mean, look how well everything else has gone so far.”

“Well, not the boat trip.” Jo says, tracing patterns in the wood grain of the table.

“Okay, not the boat trip but that’s not your fault.” Yaz replies. “You can’t control the waves, babe.”

“I always knew I wanted to be a moon.” Jo grumbles, and Yaz shakes her head affectionately, swooping down and pressing another kiss on Jo’s lips.

“I’ll see you later.”

She turns, heading towards the front room. “Love you!” She calls as she reaches the front door.

“Love you, too!” Jo calls back, and Yaz leaves for work with a smile on her face, confident that her parents will be absolutely fine in Jo’s hands. 

* * *

“And that is why people believe the spirit of King Arthur is within Cornwall’s county bird, the chough.” Jo finishes, letting out a long breath as she does so, feeling rather tired now that her tour is over. She has brought Najia and Hakim to a stop outside the bookshop, the lights inside glinting gently, and they clap appreciatively. Jo awkwardly stands there, mind running through everything she said, hoping she got nothing wrong, hoping it was not boring. She _thinks_ she might have been talking for about two hours. Oh no, she hopes that was not too long. Oh it was, wasn’t it? Oh, she just _bored_ Yaz’s parents to death, great, this has really gone well, then…

“That was excellent, sweetheart!” Najia says, looking genuine, smiling wide. Jo blinks. Maybe she did do alright. Possibly?

“How do you retain all that information in your brain?” Hakim asks her, shaking his head in appreciative disbelief.

Jo gapes for a moment, not sure what to say, still reeling from the fact that Najia and Hakim have _apparently_ found her tour enjoyable, and entertaining. She does not know what to say, and so she places her hands on her hips and sways on the spot, nose scrunching up as she considers.

“Pretty simple, really.” She replies. “I’m good at associating places with certain lumps of information, so when I get to the place the information just _pops_ into my head. It’s really handy. I’ve got lots of places. Mentally, too! When I go to them in my head… _bam,_ it’s there.”

“No wonder you can remember all those brilliant things about space and physics and… well, all that!” Hakim exclaims, and Jo feels her cheeks tinge pink at the praise, remembering a time when, younger and warier, more likely to flee like a startled deer, a professor had looked her in the eye and told her she had a brilliant brain, had what it took to go all the way to the doctorate. She had never received praise like that before, and hearing it again now, from _Yaz’s dad,_ makes her feel just as warm. All her nerves fall to the side like shedding a heavy cloak from her body.

“Well, actually,” She says, finding her confidence, her passion igniting like a spark. “If we’re talking planets, there’s a couple you can see most prominently from here…”

Najia watches her daughter’s partner begin to point for her husband at certain places in the sky and smiles, taking a step back and allowing them to indulge in discussing what interests them both the most as she turns her gaze towards the bookshop in front of her. The sign says ‘open’, and the light is on, and so Najia meanders her way towards it, curious to see inside after Jo’s talk and also after reading Amy’s thoroughly interesting book after Yaz had gifted it to her in the summer.

A bell chimes when she opens the door, and Grace looks up from her place behind the counter, smiling politely when she sees it is Najia. Najia returns her smile with one of her own before her gaze trails around the room, mouth opening in wonder as she sees the books filling the place wall to wall, floor to ceiling. It is cosy, and quaint, and utterly charming, and Najia understands now how Yaz so easily fell in love with the place and fell in love _within_ the place.

“Hello, Mrs Khan.” Grace greets her, shifting on her chair behind the counter, a counter filled with leaflets and brochures, all promoting local events and the bookshop tours.

“Najia, please.” Najia tells Grace, wandering over to the counter, eyes still unresisting to the temptation to be tugged to roam all over the place.

“Then, Grace, please.” Grace replies.

“You’ve got a wonderful place here.” Najia compliments, eyes catching at a small display in the centre, promoting books on Arthurian legend. She smiles when she notices Yaz has written a small recommendation card for a certain book, her neat handwriting filling the small space with enthusiasm. Reminded of her daughter, Najia turns back to Grace. “Yaz tells me you used to live in Sheffield.”

“That I did. Yaz went to school with my grandson, Ryan, you’ll have met him yesterday.” Grace says, nodding. “Me and Graham moved here a few years ago when we decided to retire. Wanted a fresh start.”

“Seems like a lot of people come here for that.” Najia remarks.

Grace nods, and with a pensive look in her eyes says, “It’s good like that, Cornwall. Good for soothing the soul, healing it, in time. Gives you that ability to perceive that things could get better.”

Najia nods. “I think I can understand that.”

Grace observes her for a moment before she opens her mouth to speak. “Your daughter… Cornwall did her a lot of good. Please know I am saying that with all my respect to you as her mother, but from my point of view, someone who had already moved her, made that change, I could see how burnt out she was when she arrived, and I could see as she became slowly, more and more, rejuvenated.”

Najia nods in understanding. She does not take offence, and she can see Grace is a kind and genuine soul. She has come to terms now with the fact that her daughters are grownups, have lives without her, have certain aspects of themselves they do not share with her. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but one she knows is the right lesson to have learnt in the first place. 

“But Yaz has also done a lot of good for Cornwall, too.” Grace adds, and she smiles kindly at Najia. “And I’m not just talking about her police work of her volunteering with the coastguard, but her energy, her _soul…_ she brought something new and brilliant here and now I don’t know how we’d do without it.” 

Najia smiles, her breath hitching in her throat, eyes prickling with tears. That is one of the nicest compliments she has ever heard about Yaz, about _her_ daughter, and pride fills her like a balloon inflating, and she feels weightless, giddy with the relief that others have noticed how well Yaz is doing here, that her daughter has finally found this place where she feels fulfilled. That is all Najia has wanted for either one of her daughters, and Yaz now has it. She longs to hold her tight in that moment, embrace her daughter and let her pride seep from her pores and infect Yaz, tell her how proud of herself she should be, as proud as Najia is.

“Thank you.” She tells Grace. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“’Course, love.” Grace tells her with a twinkle in her eye. “Nowt but the truth.”

“And thank you, too, for looking out for her.” Najia adds, remembering her manners. “For continuing to look out for her.”

“It’s as if she’s my own grandchild, love.” Grace replies. “Both her and Jo. My honorary grandchildren.”

Najia nods, biting her lip as her eyes sting from tears. All she has ever wanted for Yaz, and a caring community, too, with someone so kind as to look after her as if she was blood. Maybe there really is some kind of magic in this county as Jo had been relating to them on her tour, some mystical quality that makes it such a fantastic place.

“And speaking of Jo, I want to tell you how grateful I am to your daughter for being so good for her, too.” Grace adds, and she leans back in her chair, the wood creaking as she takes a pensive pause before she begins speaking once again. “Jo was a lost soul. Her family had been ripped away from her, the life she had made, and Amy and Rory, they were doing their best, under the circumstances, to be there for her. And when she came here, and started working in this bookshop, I knew then that I had someone there I wanted to look out for, someone who needed help and needed kindness when they themselves were kind and I just felt myself pulled towards her.” Grace says, holds her arm out and then clutching it to her chest to demonstrate the strength of her feelings. “But there was still something none of us could really get at, and I watched her get _stuck,_ going round in mundane circles without being able to help herself. And when Yaz arrived she was really the thing that made Jo come unstuck, helped her to break the cycle and _finally_ help herself. So, thank you, Najia, for giving us someone so brilliant. For myself, for Jo, just thank you for her.”

“Well,” Najia coughs to clear her throat, not even trying to hide the tears which sparkle in her eyes now, after Grace’s words. Besides, she can see the other women’s own glistening in her eyes. Najia had not expected such a heartfelt discussion when she entered the bookstore, but she is glad she stepped through. “I’m just as grateful to Jo for being so good for Yaz. She really is. I’ve never seen Yaz so happy.”

“They’re good for each other.” Grace concludes. “And Cornwall is good for them.” 

* * *

Jo wanders slowly up to the cottage after leaving Najia and Hakim at the bookshop to browse, having spent fifteen minutes talking Hakim through their planetary positioning and agreeing to give him a tour of the night sky that evening to point out the constellations. She lets out a long breath, feeling rather tired and a little overwhelmed. The morning had gone well, she is sure of that now, but it has still been draining, and she is looking forward to a little time alone this afternoon before Sonya arrives and the socialising will begin once again; Najia and Hakim are taking their own time to explore the surrounding area, and upon Jo’s recommendation they are heading to Tintagel. She hopes they enjoy it but is extremely glad she herself is not going.

The cottage door closes with a loud thump behind her and Jo leans against it for a moment, blowing her breath out from her cheeks, letting her head thump back against the wood. She breathes, focussing on the movement of air in and out of her lungs, allowing herself to be still for a moment, before she heads into the kitchen and switches on the kettle for tea.

Having Yaz’s family there is _fantastic,_ brilliant, and they have been so positive and affirmative, genuinely enjoying, Jo can see, their time in Cornwall. But years of thought patterns which bend towards negativity have left her feeling a little… _raw_ in the face of such happiness, a primal fear that it might be taken away, that it might not be _real,_ itching in the back of her brain _._ Watching the milk swirl into her mug of tea, Jo takes a moment to just be with herself and tell herself that what she has here is _real,_ it is not going t go away, Yaz’s family do not secretly hate her, and nor is she not good enough for them. The voice in her ear, nagging and persistent, needing a lot of reassurance before it is appeased, and she knows this will not be the only time she will have to reassure it during the trip, but it is progress. That is what her therapist says, progress, and sometimes progress means taking time out for yourself to take those moments, and that is okay.

It is an hour later, and Jo is curled up on the sofa with her head in a book when there is a knock on the door. Jo frowns, checking the time on her phone. It is too early for Yaz, or Sonya, or Hakim and Najia. Perhaps something has gone wrong, maybe conditions are too blustery and wet to open Tintagel that day?

She pads towards the door, half expecting it to only be Jack or Ryan, but when she pulls it open, she comes face to face with Sonya.

She blinks.

She narrows her eyes. Did she see the time wrong?

“It’s not five, is it?” She asks Sonya, who blinks back.

“…No?” She says. “I’m early.”

“Oh.” Jo nods, closing her mouth with a snap. An awkward silence pervades the space between them.

“I managed to get an earlier train down.” Sonya explains. She shifts where she is stood, big bag slung over her shoulder. “Look, can I come in? This bag weighs a tonne, and I’ve already walked over to the other cottage and back because no one was there!”

“Oh, yes, yes, sorry, right! Of course, come in!” Jo says, stepping back so that Sonya can shuffle past her, placing her bag down on the ground with a _thump._ Jo closes the door behind her and turns, hands coming together in front of her body, fingers twisting together. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Or water? Or we’ve got some other sorts of beverages if you wa-”

“Tea is fine. Thank you.” Sonya says, straightening, letting out a long breath as she collects herself. Jo nods, giving her a smile as she hurries past her into the kitchen.

Oh no.

Jo has rarely spent time with Sonya, let alone time _alone_ with Sonya, the younger Khan sister not as present as Yaz’s parents in their Skype calls, having her own life. And now there are still a couple of hours until Yaz is back and Jo is here alone with her sister! She wishes making tea could go on for those two hours, or that Najia and Hakim might come home at that moment. Oh no, Jo is not good at small talk…

“That was good, that you got an earlier train.” She says to Sonya as the tea brews traitorously quickly. She peers into the main living room, scrunching her nose up at Sonya. “I mean, was it good? I suppose it was?”

“Yeah, it was.” Sonya says, looking to her, looking as awkward as Jo feels. Well, at least that makes two of them. “A client cancelled, and I was up anyway so… Where are mum and dad? And Yaz?”

“Out!” Jo replies, and then mentally kicks herself. _That_ is obvious. “They’re visiting Tintagel. And Yaz is at work until five.” _Although with a bit of luck Donna will let her go early…_

“Oh.” Sonya replies. “… Will they be back soon?”

“Not sure, but they haven’t been gone all that long.” She says and tries not to notice as Sonya looks disappointed. Oh dear… “…Although with a bit of luck Yaz might be able to get home early!” She adds.

Sonya nods, biting the inside of her cheek as she awkwardly swivels on her foot, looking around the front room. “So… this is the cottage.”

“Ah, yes!” Jo says, walking through into the front room with two mugs of tea in hand. She had forgotten Sonya had advised them on buying in the early days of their raising their interest in the cottage; her job as an estate agent meant she could give them insider tips to making their application the most favourable, and it had paid off in the end.

“It’s… nice.” Sonya says, appraising it as she takes one of the mugs from Jo. She sounds pleasantly surprised as she says, “I didn’t know Yaz was so… trendy.”

“Oh? Is it trendy?” Jo asks her, crossing her arm in front of her body as the other holds her tea aloft. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve got no clue, to be honest, about anything. I just knew I wanted a purple sofa that we could sit on, and bookcases from floor to ceiling for all our books, and a place for us to play board games, so a big coffee table, and somewhere where we could eat, so we put a table in the kitchen, and- actually, do you know what, s’not important.” She says, clamping her mouth shut, kicking herself for going off on one.

Sonya stares at her, a little wide-eyed, thoughtful. “You really love my sister, don’t you?”

Jo blinks. “Well… yes.”

“Huh.” Sonya says.

They spend a very awkward fifteen minutes drinking their tea, once Jo had remembered her manners and offered Sonya a seat on the sofa, making the best small talk Jo can summon. It is only when they have settled into an awkward silence once more that Sonya sighs, placing her mug of tea on the sofa, looking around the room, the material evidence of Jo and Yaz’s life.

“You know,” She begins to say, eyes drifting off to look at the photographs lining their mantelpiece, thoughtful, pensive. “As much as Yaz is my sister, and she annoys the hell out of me and all of that,” She says, laughing lightly under her breath, and Jo nods, going along with it. “She’s also my sister in the sense that I care for her. I don’t like seeing her hurt, and Yaz spent a lot of her teenage years hurt, and then her relationship and job went off the rocks and… It wasn’t fun to see. I didn’t really know how to help her, not when Sheffield weren’t enough for her anymore, and I could see it weren’t. Believe me, the moment I could, I went off travelling and saw the world and I just wanted to shake Yaz and tell her to do the same, give her time to focus on herself, not on her career, not on anyone else. So, when she first came down here, I was happy she was getting out of Sheffield at least, and when she met you…”

Sonya sighs, turning to face Jo, and Jo tenses, fingers of her free hand digging into her thigh. She desperately tries not to fidget under Sonya’s gaze. “I won’t lie, I were worried she was putting her whole self-worth in another person, just as she’d done with Clara, just as she’d done with her job, and I was wary, but…” She shrugs. “I have to give it to you, you’ve done more good for my sister than anyone else has. Even when she phones, she sounds _sickeningly_ happy.” Sonya says, rolling her eyes, and Jo laughs lightly. Sonya sends her a small smile back. “Even in here, I can see it. I get to see a lot of houses in my job, and trust me, some of them have been absolute hell holes, and some of them have been empty, shells of a house, with no life in them. This, this is warm. This is a home.”

Jo blinks, taken aback by Sonya’s words, taken aback by her honesty. She had not expected this, had not known what to expect but is she… bonding with Sonya? Is this what bonding is? Because she thinks she might have just done so.

“Thank you.” She says, and finds she has to clear her throat. “That means a lot.”

Sonya nods, smiling, and then she is glancing away, shifting to sit upright on the sofa, placing her mug on the coffee table. “Well, anyway, if you’ve got a key can you please give it to me so I can get to the other cottage and change? I feel _disgusting._ ”

Jo jumps up, placing her mug on the coffee table. “Yes, of course! It’s around here somewhere…”

Key located, she hands it to Sonya, who takes it with a small ‘thanks’ and goes to collect her bag. “I’ll be back after I’ve changed and stuff. Could you let me know when Yaz is back?”

“Yes, I can do that, I can do that!” Jo says, and turning on the spot, she looks around for a pen, spotting one on the small desk in the corner, Yaz’s workspace. She darts over for it, and scrawls onto the back of her hand ‘Tell Sonya Yaz.’

Sonya has an eyebrow raised at the action, and Jo smiles bashfully and says, “S’handy notebook. Get it? _Handy_ notebook?”

Sonya rolls her eyes. “Oh my god.” She says, and turns towards the door, lugging her back after her. Jo hesitates for a moment before she steps forward, tucking the pen into her jeans pocket.

“Want me to help?” She offers.

Sonya looks between her and the bag, and although she shrugs and says “Sure” like it means nothing, Jo knows it does mean something to the both of them. She smiles, pleased, shucking on her coat and making sure her keys are in her pocket before taking the bag from Sonya, gesturing that she should lead the way.

“So,” Jo says as they set off from the cottage, “Yaz said you had a new boyfriend.”

Sonya nods. “Yes, I do.”

“… Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Cool.”

“Cool?”

“What’s his name?”

“… Clive.”

“Ah, that’s a good name.”

“Glad you approve.”

“Are you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t really care, but I’m just being polite.”

“Ah, cool. That’s cool.” 

* * *

“Hey.” Yaz says as she enters the kitchen that evening, and Jo turns from her spot at the sink, doing the washing up after dinner. In the main room, the three Khans sit and talk, and Jo can hear them laughing. Najia and Hakim had been delighted to see their daughter when they had arrived back from Tintagel, and Yaz had been bemused when the moment she came through the door Jo had shoved her hand in her face and announced she must text Sonya.

“Hi.” Jo says, and Yaz joins her at the sink, grabbing a tea cloth and beginning to dry up the crockery sat on the draining board.

“Sonya says you and her had a bonding session earlier.” Yaz says, drying the bowl in her hands.

“Ah, so that _was_ a bonding session, I thought so.” Jo says. She winces sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure with your sister, I was pretty sure she just found me annoying.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, that’s just how Sonya is with everyone.” Yaz tells her. She peers into the living room to make sure she is not overheard before she says, “It’s her way of feeling in control, I think. So, it’s really good that you two had a heart to heart.”

Jo nods. “We did…” She can feel Yaz’s gaze, curious, on her, so she turns to her partner and says, “She was saying how she could see this was a home, she could see we loved each other. She said I’m good for you.”

“You are good for me, of course you are.” Yaz says, nudging Jo’s shoulder with her own. “The best.”

Jo smiles at that, looking down at the soapy water in front of her.

“You okay?” Yaz asks her.

Jo sucks in a deep breath, turning to her partner, wiping her hands on her apron before looping her arms around Yaz’s shoulders. Yaz discards her cloth and wraps her own around Jo’s waist. “Yeah. I am. You?”

“Never better.” Yaz says with a smile, her hands snaking down to tuck into Jo’s jeans pockets. She frowns, feeling something strange on her fingers. She pulls them out, bringing them to her eyeline, and frowns.

“Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“I think a pen has leaked in your pocket.”

Jo steps back, trying to turn to see behind her. Sure enough, she catches sight of a deep blue stain in her jeans from the biro she had shoved in there earlier. “Shit.” 

* * *

“How the hell do you put up with this wind?” Sonya complains the next day, New Year’s Eve, trying to tame her long hair so that it Is tucked under her scarf before it becomes too tangled.

Yaz shrugs, running a hand along her practical braid. “Used to it by now.”

Sonya huffs, unimpressed, but manages to tame her hair into her scarf as they meander down one of the small back streets of the village towards the harbour. They have just been for lunch at the smaller, more secluded pub in the village, tucked away in a narrow street, chosen because the food it better and so is the atmosphere, and are winding their way back down to the harbour for a post-lunch walk.

With Jo’s arm tucked through hers, Yaz feels very content. And rather full.

“Do you get used to the rubbish phone signal, too?” Sonya complains a moment later, holding her phone up into the sky with an annoyed expression on her face.

“Oh, you just have to get the right place for a signal.” Jo explains. “The downside of living by the coast at the bottom of a valley. Worth it for the views though.”

“Is it?” Sonya questions, holding her phone up higher.

“Trying to contact Clive?” Yaz teases her sister, although she is secretly pleased that she has found someone new, and from what Sonya has told her, he seems a good pick.

“Just because you’ve got no one to text you so you can afford to live somewhere with poor phone signal.” Sonya teases back.

“I text, Yaz,” Jo chimes in, raising a finger into the air. “She’s got me!”

Yaz smirks, affection bursting like a balloon in her chest.

“Yeah, but you’re right there.” Sonya replies, gesturing at the two of them.

Just at that moment, the pager on Yaz’s belt goes off.

Her parents and Sonya look to her with surprise, whilst Jo steps away so Yaz can read the report coming off the small screen. She uses the pager for the coastguard, and it sends her an alert when she is being called for a callout.

“Shoot, I’ve got to go.” She says, looking to her partner and then her family. This is bad timing. “Someone’s in the water.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Najia says, putting a hand to her mouth.

“Mum, don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” Yaz reassures her. She turns to Jo, grabbing her arms and planting a kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful!” Jo shouts after Yaz as she sets off down the street towards the harbour, just at the same time as Najia does. Najia turns to her.

“Is she going to be alright?”

Jo meets her gaze, her mouth settling into a grim line. She always worries when Yaz is called out, even though she knows the woman is trained and is with the team, there is still always a chance… “She knows what she’s doing.” She tells Najia. She gestures with her head in the direction of the harbour. “We can watch if you want? They’ll have to launch the boat.”

Yaz’s parents nod eagerly at her suggestion, and Jo leads them at a much faster pace than they had been going towards the harbour. When they finally reach it, coming out from a small narrow alley to beside the fish and chips shop, Jo can already spot the dinghy being towed out of the station by Jack.

“Oh, my goodness, is that all they go out in?” Najia asks, the concern for her daughter written all over her face. “I thought they’d have one of those bigger ones, you know, like a proper boat.”

“Ah, we’re too small a station for one of those.” Jo explains, and gestures east with her thumb. “But they have one down at Padstow!”

“Oh my…” Najia mutters under her breath as they come to a stop at the end of the jetty to watch the team set off.

Yaz comes out, dressed in her coastguard uniform, the thick, bright yellow suit with the red lifejacket over the top, her helmet already fitted over her head. Martha and Jack are with her, and with the boat in the water Jack gives thumbs up to Ryan, who stands by the truck which drags the boat out to the water. Then, the boat is off, cutting lines through the water as it races at a fast past. The waves are chopping today, rising and falling in a great swell, and the boat’s nose tips towards the sky again before it comes crashing down once more.

Jo watches with pride and admiration and no small amount of concern as the boat disappears from view over the horizon. Yaz’s parents raise their hands to shield their eyes to try and spot the boat as the team carry out what will hopefully be a successful rescue mission. Beside her, Sonya is filming the whole thing on her phone, even Clive forgotten in the drama of Yaz’s callout.

“How long will it take?” Hakim asks Jo.

Jo shrugs. “However long it takes.”

It takes, in the end, only twenty minutes before they hear the gravelly sound of an engine, and flashes of orange amongst the undulating waves. Not bad, considering, Jo thinks, and she feels a smile break out on her face to see a fourth person aboard the dinghy along with its team, sitting up, supported by her partner. A successful mission, then.

Najia lets out a cry of relief and Hakim claps once in delight and relief. Sonya smirks as she focusses her camera on the boat as it comes into shore, making sure she gets Yaz helping the man out of the boat and up to the station, handing him over to Martha for a medical evaluation. Jo has half a mind to ask the other woman if she could send her the video.

When Yaz spots them, trudging up the jetty towards the station, she sends them a wave, and Najia waves back, a short cry in the back of her throat. Jo watches her, concerned. She thinks it is motherly pride, she hopes it is, that causes Najia to expression such emotion. Yaz points towards the station and then to her gear, and then down at the ground, telling them to wait there whilst she gets changed. Jo sends her a thumbs up, and her partner turns and heads into the station.

“Amazing.” Hakim says.

“Well, there’s some excitement we didn’t know we’d be getting today.” Najia comments. Beside her Sonya nods, bringing her phone close to her chest again, back on a signal hunt now the drama is over.

“Do you think we could go and see the boat?” Hakim asks eagerly, looking over to where Jack is slowly and carefully guiding the yacht back into the station.

“Ugh, why?” Sonya asks, not looking up from her phone.

Jo shrugs, answering Hakim’s question. “Don’t see why not.”

“Well, if it will get us out of this bluster.” Najia says, and very casually and without thinking about it, she puts her arm around Jo’s shoulders, guiding her towards the station. It is a motherly gesture, a touching gesture, and Jo does not quite know what to do, so taken aback, that she just walks with Najia, Sonya following on as Hakim pushes eagerly ahead.

“You’re just as brave as she is, watching her do that and not complaining.” Najia says to her as they head across the harbour.

Jo blinks. “I’m not as brave. I don’t go out in the boat.”

“No, but it was stressful, then, watching her go out on that boat, no matter how proud I am.” Najia says diplomatically, looking to her daughter’s partner. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to deal with that every time.”

Jo considers this for a moment before answering. “I trust that Yaz and the rest of the team know what they’re doing. I know they’re as safe as they possibly can be. But, you’re right, it terrifies me if I think about it too much, knowing she puts herself in danger like that. But, then, knowing she’s doing it to help others, because she wants to… I can’t complain. I can only stand back and admire her.”

She really can only stand back and admire her, especially when, ten minutes later, Yaz turns up in the doorway of the station as her dad delightedly examines the boat with Jack and Najia and Sonya stand a little less enthusiastically nearby. There she is, dressed back in her regular clothing, just jeans and a jumper and her leather jacket over that, but to Jo she looks like the most fantastic sight in the world- nay, the universe.

“What?” Yaz asks when she catches her staring, stepping forwards. She smells of brine and salt from being out on the waves. “Is it my hair? Have I got helmet hair?”

“No, no you haven’t.” Jo says, brushing back said hair from Yaz’s face from where strands have come loose from the braid. “I just… love you.”

Yaz frowns a little, smiling at Jo confusedly, but she steps forward, brushing her lips against Jo’s. “I love you, too.” 

* * *

The sun has set for the final time that year, and Yaz finds herself crowded around the coffee table in her lounge, cards set out on the table in front of her as her family play a round of Cards Against Humanity, waiting for midnight’s ascendancy.

Of course, Sonya had picked _this_ particular game to play.

“What is cunni-” Hakim squints closer at the card, glasses perched on the end of his nose. “What is cunninlin-”

“You don’t need to know that, dad, doesn’t even make a funny answer to the question.” Yaz quickly says, taking the card from him and stuffing it back in the box. Sonya is smirking into her own cards, whilst Jo is looking down at hers. 

“I’ve got ‘worshipping that pussy’.” She says, reading her card out.

“I mean, that’s pretty much what it is.” Sonya remarks and Yaz sighs, letting her head thump against the coffee table.

“Can we stop now?” She asks. “Why couldn’t we play Cluedo like I suggested?”

“Because you father would get far too into it and create complex narratives and _conspiracies_ like he always does.” Najia reminds her.

“Well, how else do you play it?” Jo chimes in, and Hakim gestures to her as if to say, ‘she gets it.’

“Oh, look at the time, we should stop now, or we’ll miss the countdown.” Najia says, reading the clock on the mantelpiece which reads just after half past eleven. Almost there.

“Thank goodness for that.” Yaz says, furiously grabbing the cards and tucking them back into the box. She is not forgiving Sonya for that one anytime soon.

“Let me get some drinks sorted.” Jo says, placing her cards down on the table for Yaz to organise. As she places her hand on Yaz’s shoulder to push herself up she mutters into her ear, “I’ll never get the memory of your dad proudly saying ‘my orgasm’ out of my head.”

Yaz groans, and Jo sniggers as she rises and pads off into the kitchen.

“Never again.” Yaz mutters under her breath.

Five minutes later and everyone is sorted with drinks, and Hakim has switched on the television to the music celebration being broadcast from London. Najia, however, has other ideas and she clears her throat, turning down the volume down on the television. She turns to them all, gesturing for Hakim to join her at her side, and the man wraps an arm around his wife’s waist.

“Just, before midnight hits and the new year arrives, I wanted to say something.” She begins, and Yaz slips her hand into Jo’s. “Firstly, I wanted to thank you both, Yaz and Jo, for having us. It’s been a fantastic trip and I’m already looking forward to our next one! Secondly, I just wanted to say to you both, and you, Sonya, darling, as well, how proud I am of you. How proud of you I am, Yaz, for you to have found your place here, to have been so brave as to take those steps to changing your life. And Sonya, you’re doing so well with the estate agents and really carving your path there!”

“As if you could stop her.” Yaz comments, but she says it kindly, and Sonya catches her eyes, sending her a small smile.

“And you’ve got Clive, too.” Najia says, and then she turns to Jo. “And Jo, I’ve already told you, sweetheart, that you’re very much a part of this family, and I want to say how proud I am- we both are- to have you.”

Jo goes very still, and her hand goes very tense in Yaz’s and Yaz knows she is extremely moved by what Najia has just said, frozen and taken aback by her words. She squeezes her hand tightly, reassuring her of her presence.

“I…” Jo says, but seems unable to form any more words.

“You don’t have to say anything, love.” Najia reassures her. “None of you do. We just wanted to say all this before the new year comes.”

“Thanks, mum.” Yaz says, tears glistening in her eyes, feeling as knocked for six as Jo is by her mum’s kind words, feeling warm and loved, like she has been doused in pure sunlight.

“Yeah, thanks mum.” Sonya echoes her words, and Najia looks proudly between her two daughters before she waves them all away.

“Hak, turn the television up, that’s enough of that now.” She orders, and her husband does just that, so that upbeat music fills the room. “Let’s all just countdown to midnight, together shall we?”

Najia makes her way around the room, embracing them all in a tight hug, Hakim following on behind. Yaz watches Jo’s face closely when she pulls away from her parents’ embraces, seeing the other woman blinking quickly, eyes wide. She draws her to the side of the room once Najia and Hakim have turned their attention back to the television, Sonya pulling out her phone to FaceTime Clive so they could at least _see_ the New Year in together through _seeing_ each other. They wrap their arms around each other, moving slowly back and forth in a dance as the musician playing away on the television belts out a song.

“We’re almost there.” Jo comments as the clock in the corner of the screen ticks down into the final five minutes. She has been very quiet for the past few minutes, as has Yaz, both of them a little blown away by her parents’ kindness. “Almost made it to the end of this year.”

“We have,” Yaz replies. “And the beginning of a new one.”

Jo takes a moment to think, the small crease forming between her eyebrows which Yaz finds so endearing. “This year has feels like it’s been one of two halves. Feels like at first it was going to be the worst of my life, and by the end it feels almost like it was the best.”

Yaz raises her eyebrows, waiting to see if Jo wants to explain more.

“I never saw it coming. All of it. And it’s hard for me to think that maybe I wouldn’t have got this happiness if I hadn’t gone through such tragedy, because that feels too simplistic an explanation. It doesn’t allow for where the lines blur, where… well, you know where all that tragedy got in the way of the happiness, made it harder to see the potential of the happiness.”

Yaz nods.

“But I suppose shadows do define light.” Jo says, shrugging lightly. “That you learn from the things you go through. Learn that there is something else, there is a new happiness, and that does not mean you’re betraying the feelings of sadness, or the happiness you experienced before in another time with another person. That you’re worth the happiness, should grab it with both hands. That’s why I think it might have been one of the best of my life, because it feels like I’m finally figuring myself out, and you’re there beside me.”

“You’re right.” Yaz says, beaming with pride at the woman in her arms, how far she has come in a few short months from where they had been in July, on a cliff edge, close to falling. “It feels weird to say it now, but if things hadn’t gone so badly with Clara or with work then I would never have come here and found this happiness. I guess it shows that you have to trust sometimes in what you’re going through, that things will work out. And that sometimes what you need is not what you expect.”

“Sometimes it’s a woman who comes into your bookshop and desperately tries to flirt whilst you’re completely ignorant.” Jo jokes, and Yaz laughs, tipping her head back.

“Listen, I tried my best.” She tells Jo, remembering that very first week, the tentative crush, Bill’s encouragement. Yaz is just so very glad Jo reciprocated her feelings and her flirting skills did not have to be used to woo her in any way.

Jo raises an eyebrow at that, but does not say anything, simply staring at Yaz, how the light catches her eyes so that they glisten, how every time she looks at her feel like the first time, feels like seeing the wonder of her all over again. Jo does not know it, but Yaz is thinking the exact same thing as she stares back.

“Look how far we’ve come.” She says, trailing her fingers down the side of Jo’s face. Behind them on the screen the crowd begins to count down the final minute.

“In our own cottage, in a place where we feel happy and have found a family together, and now you’re with my family, as much a part of it as I am!”

“Two families.” Jo utters it like she can hardly believe it, a sacred whisper on the tongue. She turns to Yaz, “You know, I spent so much time watching the sunset this past year that I wasn’t thinking at all about new beginnings, not until you came along, and I found that I could, that it was alright to. And now, this new year is the biggest new beginning of them all.”

“It certainly is.” Yaz says, and behind them on the screen the crowd begins to count down the final thirty seconds.

“But also, it feels like…. The easiest.” Jo says, her eyes locking with Yaz’s. “The easiest new beginning of them all.”

The crowd begins to count down from ten.

“I know what you mean.” Yaz says, stepping closer to Jo, getting ready. The crowd counts down from five. “So, let’s make it a brilliant one, yeah?”

The count reaches zero, Jo and Yaz’s lips meet, and they step into a new year, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, I worry so much about this being repetitive, the same themes coming up, and that Sonya wasn't in it enough so I hope it was okay! I wanted to slip that scene in between Najia and Grace because I just felt like the two maternal figures should have a bonding moment together! Thanks so much for reading, kudos and comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1


	9. Riptide Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz is competing in a surfing competition when a face from the past comes riding in on a wave that threatens to send her under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday @verythirstykhan! I really hope you enjoy this Yaz-centred one shot, and thank you so much for all your support and love for this little universe!! 
> 
> This story is set two years after the end of rt.
> 
> TW: very slight homophobia (not at all explicit, just the character is an asshole, which I think you'll get when they're introduced...!)
> 
> Also, please bear with me, I do not know much at all about surfing (the irony of all this being I'm terrified of the ocean lol) or how riptides work and a lot of this has come from the research I did watching YouTube videos on them! In fact, if you're interested in how a riptide works this one is very good: https://youtu.be/LqPck43OLjk

The sun beats down in hot pulses upon the sand beneath Yaz’s feet, and she curls her toes into the grain, feeling them, rough against her skin. It helps to ground her, helps her control her breathing and bring herself back to the here and now, to focus, to not lose herself in nerves or overthinking. She can do this. She has been training for this for months now.

She is relatively new to the competitive surfing scene, but after the arrival of a professional surfer to Kennock Cove in the summer of the last year, she had quickly befriended him, and he had offered her lessons. And now here she stands, upon Newquay beach, competing in the North Cornwall district surfing competition.

She is surrounded by other competitors. A lot of them know each other and they greet each other as they all wait to be called in their order for them to compete. They will all go through an initial first round, eventually dwindling down in numbers as the best come out stronger and those who fall must concede defeat, until the two best surfers must compete. But Yaz doubts that will be her; she is doing this more for fun and the experience of taking part rather than any desperate desire to win, surfing for her is a hobby. But she cannot deny the sight of the other competitors and the crowds which watch, forming a large mass of people which stretches across the beach and up onto the car park beyond are making her nervous.

“Yaz!”

A very familiar voice calls, and Yaz turns, smiling with relief to see her partner of two years trotting towards her across the beach, followed on by Amy and Mickey, her surfing instructor. He is a nice man, genuine and honest, someone who mixes very well with her personality.

“Hiya!” Jo greets her as they approach, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Yaz’s lips. She has sunglasses perched upon the end of her nose, and a thick layer of sun cream smothered over her face to protect her pale skin from the summer sun. Amy is similarly donned in sunglasses and sun cream and wears a large sunhat upon her head to protect her. Both women hold ice cream cones in their hands, the creamy substance dripping slowly down as it melts, onto their fingers. Amy looks down at hers displeased.

“We just came to wish you good luck.” Mickey says with a hand to her arm. “And remember? Go with the wave, don’t fight it.”

“Got it.” Yaz says and nods confidently, although she grips her surfboard tighter against her side.

“We’re up by the rocky bit, far from the _throngs._ ” Amy says, gesticulating behind her with her free hand as she licks the dripping ice cream from her cone.

“Plus, we’re higher up there so we get a better view.” Jo explains, looking around at the surfers who pass them by, all kitted out in wetsuits. She turns back to Yaz, leaning into her ear to say, “None of them look as good as you.”

Yaz laughs and mutters back. “Do you mean competition wise or how I look in this wetsuit wise?”

She remembers that first time she had worn a wetsuit in front of Jo, those two years ago. Back then she had been self-conscious, extremely aware of how she looked in front of the other woman and had received bruised ribs for her efforts. Now, however, it is second nature to don the suit, and this one is her own, fitting her like a glove, and she knows exactly what Jo thinks of her in it and she is proud of the fact.

“Competition wise.” Jo says, and then she smirks. “But also, wetsuit wise. Not that I was looking at them! I wouldn’t! Obviously, my eyes are only for you, Yaz!”

“Okay, can we not do this right now?” Amy says, butting in, grabbing Jo’s arm. “Yaz has a competition to perform in and me and Mickey are right here.”

“It’s ‘Mickey and I’.” Jo says in retaliation.

“I don’t care.” Amy replies deadpan.

“Okay, wait, I want to give Yaz a good luck kiss!” Jo protests, wiggling out of Amy’s grip and in the process sending her ice cream slopping to the sand. She looks at it for a moment, as if seriously debating whether to just pick it up again, and Yaz braces herself for sandy kisses later before she shrugs and steps forward, placing both her hands on Yaz’s arms. Yaz tries to ignore how she smears ice cream over one arm of her wetsuit in the process.

“You’re amazing.” Jo says to her, her eyes sincere and bright in the summer light, full of that wondrous love she gets in them when she is singing Yaz’s praises. “You’re going to do amazing, however you place, but I’ve got every faith in you that you’re going to smash this.”

Behind them, stood upon the small constructed platform which acts as a stage for the announcer and the judges, a man speaks into a microphone, calling out the numbers for the surfers registered in the competition that should prepare. Jo presses a quick kiss on Yaz’s lips before she gives her a wink and steps away, Amy and Mickey following on behind. Amy sends a mock salute her way and Mickey gives her a nod.

“Good luck.” He says, and Yaz takes his faith and Jo’s love with her into the day. 

* * *

Yaz does well.

Better than she had thought she might do.

She gets through the beginning stages easy as pie, lucky in the quality of her surf, the waves amenable, polite, almost, allowing her to roll back into shore easily. She hears the clapping of the crowd and the announcing of her number, pinned to her wetsuit arm, over the loudspeakers, every time she gets through a round until, to her own disbelief, she is in the semi-finals.

The feeling of being out on the waves is unlike anything else, as if simply being carried on the sea’s current is all that matters, as if she is breathing with it, living with it, a _part_ of it. A hitchhiker on its inevitable washing into the shore. It is that feeling of naturalness, of _being,_ which she finds calms her, even as she faces off her competitor to make it to the finals, and sure enough the wave is coming, rolling towards her, and it is simply a matter of jumping into the rhythm and jumping up onto her board to go with it and bring herself back into the shore, landing comfortably on her feet.

The crowd applauds, and Yaz looks towards the rocks to the left of the beach, seeing the small figures of Jo, Amy, and Mickey jumping up and down and cheering. Over the roaring of the sea behind her, the cawing of seagulls overhead, and the jubilation of the crowd, Yaz is fairly sure she hears Jo shout, “That’s my girlfriend!”

“We have our first finalist, number one-three-nine-nine, Yasmin Khan!” The announcer calls over on the microphone. Yaz approaches him and the stage to receive directions for what she should do next, a little blindsided and shocked by having reached this point in the first place, and the man assures her that she will have a little time now if she wants to grab some water and a bite to eat before the final takes place. Making the most of it, and not wanting to see who her final competitor might be as the last two semi-finalists prepare to go out for their surf, Yaz winds her way across the beach to where her small group of supporters is stood, the announcer’s next calls over the speakers just white noise to her ears.

She feels the ache in her muscles somewhat as she trudges across the sand but knows she must keep the blood pumping through them and keep her energy levels up if she wants to do her best in the final. Boosting of spirit and energy is made much easier when she reaches the rocks and Jo comes running down to greet her, beaming smile on her face.

“Be careful!” Yaz calls as Jo jumps from the rocks onto the sand on bare feet. “Don’t slip or fall!”

“Yaz! You- you- I-” Jo is lost for words and Yaz laughs, gently resting her board against the outcrop of rocks. Amy and Mickey are making their way down from where the group had been stood a little further up, affording them a good view of the surf and competition.

“Not bad, right?” She asks Jo.

“’Not bad’?!” Jo repeats, eyebrows raised. Her hands are raised up by the side of her head as she excitably tries to find the words to express her emotions. “Yaz, you’re-”

“A fucking badass.” Amy says, elegantly leaping down from the rocks on her long legs.

“Yeah, that.” Jo says, pointing Amy’s way. Her hands find their way to her hips, and she shakes her head. “Just incredible.”

“Oh my god, man, I can barely believe it! The final!” Mickey says as he reaches them. “Good job, Yaz.”

“Thanks, just been doing as we practiced, keeping my focus on the waves and nothing else.” Yaz says.

“That’s good, and keep it that way.” Mickey instructs. “Don’t focus on whoever it is you’ll be facing in the final, they’re not important. Only the wave is.”

Yaz nods. The moment she had first hit the water for the beginning round she had found she had barely taken notice of her fellow competitors. The friendliness of the sea, the familiarity of it as she had waded in had been reassuring and had put Yaz immediately at ease, and she could easily pretend she was back surfing in Kennock Cove as she usually was. The other competitors had fallen to the sides, shoved to the back of her mind. 

She feels like she has got this.

She feels like she might actually do it.

“And if you do win, you bet we’re having the biggest celebration tonight.” Amy says, raising her eyebrows at Yaz. Behind them the muffled voice of the announcer comes over the speakers as the other two semi-finalists must make their way out for their turn.

Jo tuts. “We’ll be doing that anyway. I’ve already got the ca-”

She stops herself with hand clapped over her mouth, but it is already too late, and Amy rolls her eyes, sighing, whilst Yaz smiles and puts a hand on Jo’s arm.

“Goose, I’m flattered. Thank you.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise cake.” She winces, looking irritated at herself.

“Well, I’ll still act surprised.” Yaz reassures her.

“Ages I spend making a _surprise_ cake and you go and ruin it.” Amy mutters under her breath, glaring at Jo, and Yaz laughs. Jo glares back at Amy, and childishly flicks her hat off of her head by lightly pushing the large brim up. Amy glares back at her and huffs, picking up her hat, but Jo has already turned to Yaz, smiling encouragingly.

“You’ve got this, Yaz.” She says. “You’ve been smashing it up until this point, I know you’re going to smash it again!”

Behind them, the crowd cheers, and Yaz knows the last two semi-finalists must be taking their shot to compete against her. She does not turn, but keeps her eyes on Jo, on her partner, the one who is always there when she needs support, the one in whose eyes she always finds love and admiration, who always listens to her worries and always comforts her when she needs it. Her grounding stone, through thick or thin, land or sea.

“All these compliments in a day…” Yaz says with a smile. The announcer is calling out a name and number, that of the winner, Yaz’s final adversary, but all her attention is on Jo as she steps towards Jo and whispers to her, “Even if I don’t win, we’ll celebrate tonight all right.”

Jo blushes from her cheeks to her toes, and her breath hitches in her chest. Even after two years, Yaz can still make her flustered. It pleases her no end.

“You’ve got this.” Jo tells her.

From behind them, comes a voice.

“Excuse me?”

Yaz turns, and then she blinks, and then blinks once more.

The face of the person stood in front of her, a woman about her age whose frizzy blonde hair is pulled back into a bun which drips drops of seawater down onto the shoulders of her wetsuit, is familiar but the passing of time has made Yaz doubts whether this is the person who she thinks it is.

“Yasmin Khan, right?” The woman asks her, adjusting the surfboard she holds in her grip.

“Err… yeah.” Yaz says, feeling a little knocked for six. Or at least like the big weight which is about to knock her for six is coming, coming, coming, as soon as the woman….

“Isabelle. Flint. We went to school together, right?”

And then it hits.

“Ermm, yes, yes we did.” Yaz says, clearing her throat. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and she feels hot, all of a sudden. She feels Jo’s hand on her arm, her partner clocking on to Yaz’s sudden falter and also Jo knows, Jo knows all about Izzy Flint and Yaz’s time at school, the horrendous bullying.

And now that bully is stood in front of her. Is dressed like her, is…. here.

“That’s wild!” Izzy says, smiling a pearly white smile. _Stars, she looks just the same as she did at school but older. Smiles the same, too,_ Yaz thinks. She shakes herself. This should not be affecting her as much as it is, it has been years, and she is grown from the trials of school and then some. But Izzy’s appearance is just so unexpected that Yaz cannot help but bristle away from it. She suddenly feels so much less sure of herself. “What a coincidence that we would meet here! And look, we’re competing in the final together!”

“Yaz, are you okay?” Jo murmurs in her ear, surely shooting suspicious looks Izzy’s way.

Yaz lets out a shaky breath which travels all the way down her body in a shudder, a sure-fire way of telling Jo that no, she is not okay. But still, with Izzy in front of her and Amy and Mickey watching she says, “Yeah, m’fine.” She clears her throat again, turning to Izzy and plastering a smile on her face. “That is pretty wild. So… how did you end up here?”

“Oh, well, after college I decided to travel for a bit, have a gap year, you know.” Izzy says, tossing her head back. She speaks with that arrogant manner she always had done at school. Her family had more money than Yaz’s and she liked that to be known in the way she carried herself as if that made her better than Yaz. “And that’s when I learnt to surf on the Australian coast. Turns out I had the knack for it, so I decided to pursue it professionally. I’ve competed in lots of competition, even made it to international finals, but I’ve decided to pull back for a year, take part in the smaller competitions, the backwater ones. I heard a lot about Newquay and Cornwall’s reputation for surfing so thought… why not compete down here? Been pretty easy, if I’m honest!” 

“Right.” Yaz says, gritting her teeth. She has not changed one bit.

“So, do you _live_ down here or are you visiting, too?” Izzy says, lip curling a bit. It would not be noticeable to anyone not accustomed to Izzy’s mannerisms, but even after fifteen years or so that face and her words are so ingrained into Yaz’s mind that she picks up on it immediately. In the past, she would have been intimidated, put on edge by it, and habit rises thick and fast within her, but Yaz feels Jo’s hand resting on her arm, breathes in the familiar and comforting air of Cornwall and raises her head a little higher.

“Yes, I do live down here.” She says confidently. “I’m a police sergeant here. And this…” She says, gesturing to Jo behind her, who steps forward, brushing against Yaz’s side. “Is my partner.”

“Doctor Joanne Smith.” Jo says, nodding, and pointedly not offering her hand for Izzy to shake.

Izzy’s nose twitches and her eyebrows draw together as she frowns, looking between Yaz and Jo. “…Partner?” She questions.

Yaz bites the inside of her cheek and sighs. Oh, surely she cannot still have _that_ attitude towards same-sex relationships? It seems fate is not playing with Yaz today, however, so of course she does, and Izzy shakes her head once and takes an imperceptible step back.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Jo asks Izzy and Yaz tenses. She can hear Amy take a step forward behind her, followed by Mickey, her friends ready to jump on the defensive, picking up on her and Jo’s tension. As much as that warms her, she does not want that to happen right now.

“Jo, it’s okay.” She whispers to the other woman.

“No,” Izzy says, tone indicating that she is so _obviously_ lying. She shakes her head again, sending water droplets flying everywhere, and looks Jo up and down. “I suppose there must be limited choice for who to be with down here. Seems like everything is running ten years behind the rest of the world down here!”

Yaz hears Jo inhale heavily behind her and sighs, cutting across the conversation before anyone can say anything they might regret. She does not need this right now, not when she is about to compete, and especially when she is about to compete against _Izzy Flint._ “Can I help you, Izzy?”

Izzy raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended, acting like she is the one being done a wrong here. _Oh, she has not changed at all…_ “I only wanted to wish you good luck, say hello after all these years. Let you know that it’s good to see you, and that… I won’t be holding back, out there. I’m sure you’ve learnt a lot of techniques down here, but I’m an international finalist.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Izzy.” Yaz says, keeping her tone calm and neutral. _When they go low, you go high._ That is what her mother had said, when she had finally gotten the truth from Yaz about school. “And we’ll see what the sea dictates out there, shall we? It will all depend on the waves.”

“Hmm.” Izzy says, sniffing, tossing her head yet again. “Well, guess I’ll see you out there, _Yaz._ ”

Izzy gives one last disapproving look Jo’s way before she turns on her heel and walks away across the sand, back towards the raised stage. They will be called forward soon to compete. Yaz will have to compete against Izzy Flint in front of hundreds of people… suddenly she feels quite sick.

“Oh, she’s lucky she’s got a wave to ride or she’d have been getting an even bigger piece of my mind.” Jo says once Izzy is far enough away not to hear. Yaz lets out a long breath and feels like she is deflating as she does, shoulders drooping. The blood is rushing in her ears. It is so unlike her to be so shaken up by something like this, but Izzy Flint is a grey area she never thinks nor speaks about, and her sudden presence has shaken her.

Jo’s hand gripping hers brings her back to the present. “Yaz? You okay?”

“Yeah,” She tells Jo as the other woman appears in her line of vision, deep furrow in her brow. She blinks, shaking her head. Seeing Jo reminds her of who she is now and how she has grown from the girl Izzy had known, helps bring her out of the negative mindset that had fallen over her like a cloud. “That was just weird.”

“She was insufferable, who was she?” Amy asks her, arms crossed over her chest.

“Izzy Flint. I knew her at school.” Yaz replies. Amy’s eyes narrow and look between her and the back of the retreating woman, and understanding dawns in the way her mouth makes a small ‘o’ shape.

She sniffs. “Want me to trip her up?”

Yaz shakes her head, heart warmed at her friends jumping to help and laughs lightly. It feels good, a relief and a release of some of the tension she had been feeling. She is no longer a school child, she is a successful woman with a good career and a partner, and if Izzy Flint is still judging her then she really _is_ still stuck at school. “No, thanks, but… I’ve got this.”

The man on the stage is calling for her, and Yaz takes a deep breath. She meets Jo’s eye, the other woman desperately trying to gauge if Yaz really is okay. She squeezes her hand. “I’ve got this.”

Jo’s mouth squirms as fights to keep her pride in reign, and steps closer to Yaz. “Yaz, you’re amazing, you’re brilliant, she _smells,_ and you’ve so got this.”

Yaz laughs at that and presses a kiss to Jo’s lips. The announcer calls again, and Yaz steps back. “I’ve got to go. See you after.”

“You’ve got this!” Jo shouts after her, and it encourages Yaz to feel the support of her friends and partner behind her as she makes her way to the stage. Izzy is already stood there, and she side-eyes Yaz as she steps up onto the platform, but Yaz simply nods her way, then towards the judges and the announcer before turning her gaze seawards. The surf is ripping nice and high, there will be some good waves out there.

In the final, the two surfers do not take on the same wave, but instead take turns to surf, and with the flip of a coin, it is decided that Yaz will go first. She is glad of that: less time waiting, and she does not have to see Izzy perform before she goes.

She feels hundreds of pairs of eyes on her back as she swims out on her board into the depths. It might be easy for her to feel the heavy pressure of Izzy’s gaze burning through her flesh, but instead she focuses on the warm and encouraging gazes of Jo, Amy, and Mickey. Izzy had tripped her for a moment, but she is back on her game, focussed, determined. So much more than she was when Izzy knew her. She cannot harm Yaz now.

When the wave comes, it is swooping, climbing and climbing in height until Yaz feels like a mouse in the face of a giant. But even mice can outsmart giants, and she begins to paddle forwards, faster and faster, gaining momentum until the time is right and she jumps _up_ onto the board.

She surfs in easily upon a smooth back of water, and she can hear the crowd cheer as she makes it safely back to the shore. The announcer calls her performance ‘incredible’ and ‘seamless,’ and satisfaction rises in her as big as the wave. She cannot help but glance at Izzy. The other woman is _glowering._

Yaz looks towards Jo and the gang, who are back on their rocky prominence, and waves. She sees Jo wave enthusiastically back and Mickey give her a thumbs up. All she has to do now is watch Izzy surf and hope she does not perform better than she has.

“Good job, Yaz.” The other woman comments as she passes her by on the stage, ready to take her turn. Sarcasm laces her tone. “There’s one thing you haven’t messed up.”

Yaz longs to tell Izzy to _get stuffed_ and return to the present year, but she does not, only gives Izzy a sickly-sweet smile as the other woman descends from the stage and heads out to the sea.

She forces herself to concentrate as the other woman swims out on her board, although in the aftermath of her final surf she is tired and wet and all she really wants is to have shower and cuddle with her partner. She can say also that she does not particularly care about winning, even as it is so close at hand and that winning _would_ be wonderful. But she is so happy that she has come out here today, done her best, and also risen higher in the face of a bully she had never expected to see again.

Yaz turns to look behind her and find Jo above the crowd on the rocks, and as a result she misses what has the announcer shouting loudly into his microphone a moment later. She swivels back around, alert to the man’s sudden panic, and looks out to sea. Izzy is there, riding a large wave, and all looks as it should, but then Yaz looks a little to the right, and she spots what has the man calling for Izzy. A riptide.

Riptides are incredibly dangerous, and if one were to get caught in one, they might be dragged out to sea and drown. This must be a freak one, which happens but is uncommon. The risk is increased considerably considering the size of the wave Izzy is surfing, and if the riptide were to hit that wave then Izzy might be swept out to sea.

She needs to get out of the water. Now.

Izzy is still riding on the top of the wave when the riptide hits it, the call coming too late for her to get out of the way. She wipesout, and Yaz cannot be sure but she thinks she may hit her board with force when she does, and then she is tumbling under the waves and out of sight.

There is a moment of stillness as the riptide merges with the wave and begins to swirl in a fast motion, round and round as it carries itself out to sea, and then, before she can think about what she is doing, Yaz’s coastguard training kicks in and she is grabbing her board and running out to the tide.

Yaz has been trained how to rescue someone from a riptide, and luckily the waves have died down and are less powerful in the face of the riptide hitting their current, and Yaz is able to skirt the swirling mass of water, swimming parallel to the riptide, eyes alert for any sign of Izzy or her board. If the other woman has not yet emerged from it, as surely she would have known how to do being a professional surfer, then she must be in trouble, and perhaps her board did hit her as she went down.

The riptide should eventually lose energy and seep back into the steady natural rhythm of the tide, but Yaz has not got time to wait if a woman’s life is in danger, no matter who that woman is. She continues to swim parallel to the shore, eyes alert, which is when she spots Izzy, swimming, frantically trying to keep her head above the water as she is pulled out in the riptide. There is a red smear of blood across her forehead, confirming Yaz’s suspicions about a headwound.

Summoning her energy, Yaz shouts, “Towards me! Izzy! Towards me!”

Izzy turns at Yaz’s call, and she desperately begins to make her way towards Yaz, arms cutting through the water with a little less coordination than they might have. Yaz begins to worry about the headwound, but forces herself to focus on getting Izzy to come towards her, keeping herself steady as the waves lift her up and plummet her back down.

Eventually the other woman is withing Yaz’s reach, and Yaz grabs her arm and pulls her _out_ of the deadly current of the riptide and towards her, making sure the woman has a good hold on her board.

“Get on!” She shouts, helping Izzy to clamber onto her board and lay across it, Yaz behind her. Then, taking in a fortifying breath, she begins to turn and head back along the shoreline, far away from the riptide until she can get them back onto the shore.

When they reach damp sand, they are met immediately with the medical team supervising the competition, and they support Izzy, pulling her well away from the tide. Yaz is helped out by people dressed in bright yellow shorts and shirts, the coastguard team for Newquay beach, but she waves them away when she assures them, she is fine, just out of breath from the exertion. They do not look particularly happy about her rescue mission, and Yaz knows she really should have left it to them, the ones on duty, but instinct had acted quicker, and a woman’s life was saved for it so they really cannot complain.

“Yaz!” Jo shouts her name as she comes careening at her across the beach, limbs flailing as she runs desperately. She looks, shocked, between her and Izzy, who is now sat on the beach, medics knelt by her side, prodding her head gently. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Yaz says, still out of breath. She can feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on them, and she turns to look at Jo, the only ones she wants to see. “Just acted on instinct.”

Jo lets out a relieved breath, shoulders sagging, and places a hand on Yaz’s shoulder.

“You saved my life.” A voice says from beside them, and Yaz and Jo turn to see Izzy looking up at them as the medics continue to prod and poke at her. Yaz is relieved the other woman is conscious and talking and can do no more than simply nod at her statement.

“I-” Izzy begins, but breaks off with a wince. “I… thank you.”

Her gratitude comes on a new wave of respect, but honestly? Yaz could not care less if Izzy is treating with respect now that she has saved her life. She has no need to prove herself to the other woman, and she does not see her actions as a demonstration of that, only those of the instinct to save a life. She has already surfed too many waves today, and with the adrenaline seeping away, she is feeling more and more tired.

“Don’t worry about it.” She says. “It’s what I do.”

Izzy can only stare at her speechless as Yaz turns away and back to Jo. These are the eyes she wants to look into, the face she wants to see. This is who is important to her.

“Does this mean you won?” Jo asks, and Yaz blinks. Oh yeah. The competition. Yaz had forgotten about that. And right now, she really does not care.

“I don’t know.” She replies. 

* * *

In the end, Yaz does win.

Izzy accedes the victory to her. Whilst her head injury is not serious, it is enough for her to be sworn off any more surfing for a few days. Accepting the prize, a small commemorative silver plate, is a blur in her mind. She remembers shaking hands with the judges and the competition host, and the applause of the crowd. People had swarmed in on every side as Yaz had made her way slowly up the beach towards the car park, Jo and Amy and Mickey in tow, wanting to congratulate her for both the competition and her daring rescue, but she had barely taken it in.

Only now, freshly showered, walking slowly down to the harbour, evening sun in her face and Jo’s hand in hers, does she let it all hit her.

Yaz smiles.

“Hey.” Jo says, swinging their hands between them as they stroll along. “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

Yaz looks to her partner, captured in the radiant beauty of the sun. “I know.”

“How are you feeling about Izzy?” Jo asks as the beach comes into view, two tables set out in the sand filled with food and cutlery for eating, their family milling about chatting. “That was a horrible surprise. You have no idea how much I wanted to- no, never mind, doesn’t matter, this isn’t about me, this is about you!” She says at Yaz’s raised eyebrow and smiles in the way that scrunches up her nose and makes Yaz instantly forgive her. Jo sobers. “How are you feeling? Honestly?”

“Honestly?” Yaz asks, as their family notice their imminent arrival and begin waving and cheering from the beach, as she feels Jo’s hand in hers and her steady gaze on her face. She smiles wider, the evening sun catching at her eyes, bathing her in its radiance. “I feel great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexa play Riptide by Vance Joy. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading, and once again happy birthday @verythirstykhan- ily!
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed it! An angsty first foray, I know, but there will be some very fluffy one shots on the way! 
> 
> Tumblr: walker-lister  
> Twitter: @walkerlister1 
> 
> Come say hi!


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